Skorts 1, Guy 0; turns out I don’t know everything 6

At this point in my life, I am pretty secure in my masculinity. Sure, I like to cook – and not just grilling, either. I make a kick-ass frittata, and despite the fact that’s pretty much Spanish for “quiche,” I stand by my guy bona fides. And yeah, I got a little misty during “Toy Story 3,” but who besides Chuck Norris didn’t? And my position on poop jokes is clear – for the record: always funny. More…

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The unkindest cut is sometimes self-inflicted 17

If you’ve ever cleared brush, you know that getting rid of the shrubby stuff makes even the smallest tree look bigger. And while this may be good land management, it does not necessarily translate to smart personal grooming.

I bring this up because for Christmas I got one of those male grooming appliances. It’s kind of like an electric razor, only smaller. It’s designed so men can keep themselves at their metrosexual sleekest. It can be used to trim moustaches, beards, sideburns, etc., (none of which I have). The instructions state it can also be used to manage the man forest.  Well, now …

One thing the instructions do not tell you is that, used incorrectly (and FYI, this is painfully easy to do) it is also capable of removing several layers of skin. Skin that is very delicate, very sensitive and very rich with blood vessels. And you know how, when you cut your finger, your first reaction is to stick the wounded appendage in your mouth? Not an option here. And not only is that not going to work, just trying will very likely add back strain to your litany of embarrassing injuries. “Well, doc, you’re not gonna believe this …”

Normally, I would not dream of using such an appliance; it gives off too much of a George Michael kind of vibe. But if English footballer and unassailably hetero stud David Beckham can go on record as having the smoothest Adidas in the Premier League, then who am I to quibble? Frighteningly, I came closer to resembling Lance Armstrong than I did Mr. Posh Spice.

Read the directions, hopped in the shower as suggested and lathered up. If I may use an even clumsier sports metaphor here, let me say that my intent was merely to tidy up the green a bit; accordingly, I very gingerly took hold of the pin to move it out of the way so I could see better, fired up the groomer, and immediately took out a huge, fleshy divot.

Did I mention that I hoped to surprise my wife? Well, it worked. Of course, no one expects to see a band-aid where I had applied one (Note: the only bandages we had in the house were the Hello Kitty models left here by our 5-year old niece).  And pleasant? Well, judging from her peals of laughter, I would judge that it was not altogether traumatic for her.

Like self-inflicted injuries often do, this one made me feel both hurt and stupid. But the unkindest cut (well, perhaps the second) came from the AM/PM medic, who asked if he should stop the bleeding but try to maintain the swelling.