Just once, before I die, I dream of reaching that quasi-Nirvana state of having a
great shave without scouring off the entire top layer of skin. It may
well be a myth, a story passed down from father to son, a pater familis
version of the Big Rock Candy Mountain; but, by god, I yearn for it.
If the pope would name a patron saint of good shaves, I would return to the fold. I don't know Hinduism well, but there may well be a god dedicated too such a noble cause; and if so, I will baptize myself in the Ganges immediately.
If the pope would name a patron saint of good shaves, I would return to the fold. I don't know Hinduism well, but there may well be a god dedicated too such a noble cause; and if so, I will baptize myself in the Ganges immediately.
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