The Folly of Shaving

  

     I was shaving this morning and I accidentally slit the base of my chin.

     It started bleeding but I just ignored it, thinking that it would soon stop as the wound was just small—but it didn’t. Soon, it started gushing like a faucet. I put some cotton on it but it continued bleeding copiously. I staggered out of the bathroom but before I could call for some help, I blacked out.

     I woke up inside an ambulance where all the attendants were men and had full beard. I lay there unassisted, my wound still open and bleeding. I couldn’t speak so I tried to call the attendants’ attention by gesturing and pointing to my bleeding wound but they didn’t budge, they all just glared at me.

     We reached the hospital and the doctor who also sported a thick full beard said he couldn’t do anything to save me when all he needed to do was suture my tiny wound and I would be well.

     The massive loss of blood had made me paralyzed and I found myself being wheeled inside the morgue where all the corpses were clean-shaven men.

     And as the full-bearded male morgue attendant was sliding me inside a mortuary cabinet, he whispered to me with a scowl, “That’s what you get for shaving, you traitor!”

     I woke up with a start.

     Terrible dream!

     I drank some coffee and went to the bathroom to take a bath, but first I shaved—and accidentally slit the base of my chin.