Every so often I scramble out of the house unshaven, in a rush to get to work, and then either can’t find my trusty electric razor in my car, or else the batteries in it are dead, and I can’t find the recharging cord. I usually find either object in the afternoon, sitting in some ludicrously obvious place like the passenger seat, which somehow I neglected to search, in my frantic attempts to avoid coming in to work looking like a hobo.

I have made allowances for this, however, and keep a proper shaving razor in my office desk, as well as a package of those Satanic devices that men call "disposable razors", whose intended purpose can only be to spill so much human blood that the terrible and unholy Seven-Who-Are-One, the Ogdru Jahad, will be stirred from their ancient prison, and bring about the end of Mankind.

Regardless of which implement I use to slice portions of my face off with, I’ve got to lubricate the thing. Blood isn’t always enough. Since I never seem to be quite organized enough to bring some shaving cream, I use the liquid soap in the restroom. Lately, the janitors have been stocking this goopy soap that has a strong banana scent. I know, real bananas don’t have much of a scent before they start resembling turds. I mean a scent like that fake banana flavor they put into kids’ candy, that concentrated liquid whatsit that probably has a closer chemical relationship to furniture polish than to any tropical fruit, which I suppose might explain the later penchant of teenagers for huffing spray paint out of a paper sack.

So anyway, while I do get a decent shave, I can’t shake this fake banana scent on my upper lip all day long. I wonder if my coworkers notice it. Nobody’s said anything. Maybe they like it!

I could make a killing selling the stuff. Maybe that’s my ticket out of here.