18. How many times?

Dear blog reader

I hope this finds you doing well. I am fine sitting here under the ceiling fan on an early Sunday afternoon. I feel as if I have a new lease on life.  I feel like an 18 year old again. No, I haven't found a new vitamin. There is no herbal remedy, no "act now while supplies last," no "if you act now, we'll send you this free gift!"

This fountain of youth did come through the mail though. Yes, Gillette sent me a razor for my "18th" birthday. I received the first one about two months ago. The first one you ask? Yes the first one arrived about two months ago. Figuring that they had the wrong Sharritt, I regifted it to Ben. He needed it more than me. Obviously, his razor had broken many months earlier. His face had been taken over by a furry growth. Summer was coming. It was time to get that scraped off his face before the dog days of summer arrived and the fleas made themselves at home. Also, he is much closer to 18. So, I gave it to him without much thought.

Then last week, Mr. Gillette sent me another one for my 18th birthday. Two 18th birthdays; 51 years post uterine? This gives me great hope that the N. imble S. auvy A. dvertisers need a better computer. I may not be being tracked very effectively.  Even though I have long been a fan of Gillette's Fusion and already have one in my shaving kit, I am keeping this one. I try to refrain from using my celebrity to endorse products. In this case however, I have been a longtime and faithful user of the Fusion. This loyalty doesn't mean that I am not torn. It is five blades of precision steel, topped with a glide strip. I love the over application technology for simple tasks. Who needs a simple whisk when a 19 speed stand mixer will fluff your waffles so much better? No clumps here. However, they cost about $2 million dollars a cartridge. This is where the skinflint inside takes over. In order to bring harmony to my fragile psyche, I get the Gillette Fusion and try to use each cartridge for six months.

It appears that Procter and Gamble has taken the measure of American 18 year old men and figured out that they make their purchases through their libidos. Author's note; libido is a euphemism. The box proudly proclaims that Gillette has "stacked the odds in your favor." They promise "3 times more female suitors, 27% less need for pickup lines, and 71% more double takes." They also promise some things that I am not sure that I want. For example, "2 times more cheek stroking." No thank you very much, I will scratch my own butt. I am also sure that "44% more lipstick stains" will not go over well with the lovely Miss Beverly. If I received "110% more steamy glances" than Bev gives me now, my skin would turn all pruny.

It appeared that I was immune to Gillette's wiles. Maybe age had inoculated me. I was impervious to Madison Avenue. I do not want what you are selling. Then I looked at the bottom spine, I found that I would have "3 times less epic fails." To  hit that softball out of the park they used a small graphic of a girl (you can tell from the pony tail and lack of libido) going hehe at a boy. That one got me. I ripped open the package and ran to the bathroom and employed the 5 precision blades and glide strips to full advantage. It is funny how those old fears still speak to me.

The entire packaging reminded me of six lines of a Wendell Berry poem; "Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front."

And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something
they will call you.

In spite of the warnings, in spite of wisdom gained by age, I still have a window in my head and the wizards can still look in and hit the "lack of respect prideful" key and I will jump. Here's to still sewing some curtains and hoping to not answer the call tomorrow.

Take care.

Roger