Getting a Close Shave Can Be a Hairy Chore

I've been shaving for nearly 60 years and every day for 50 of them. As a naval officer I had to be "clean-shaven, well turned-out and chipper" on a daily basis.

When I was a student at the naval academy, one of my fellow cadets was sent a gift from the front by his father -- an electric razor. Unfortunately his father neglected to send instructions on how to use it.

So, we went to the shower room to try out the gift. Yura (that was the boy's name) soaped up his face, plugged the razor in and, pressing it against his cheeks, made circular motions. But the razor refused to shave; all it did was slide across his face. We started to laugh. Yura walked over to the window and threw the gift out of it with all his might. We decided that an ordinary safety razor was much better.

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I had to put up with a lot in my naval youth because of the rampant growth of my facial hair. Once, I used a special cream that slows the growth of facial hair, but it resulted in individual patches of ginger hair that grew twice as fast.

However, from the educational point of view, it was probably for the best, as I have retained to this very day my naval habit of shaving every day and even twice a day when visiting friends or attending a meeting. However this habit was not easily acquired.

Once we set out to sea for training with an inspector general aboard who was known to be especially strict with cadets.

During a storm, the ship was rocking violently back and forth. The general left his cabin and, trying to maintain his composure, held onto the safety line that ran along the deck. As he did the rounds of the sailors who had been called to battle stations for training, he stopped beside me.

"Why haven't you shaved?" He asked severely. "You've got five minutes."

I rushed down to the crew's quarters to fulfil the inspector's command. Clinging to the partitions, I feverishly searched for my shaving kit. First the safety razor, which I found. Then the blade, which was used and dull. I attached it to the handle. But where was the mirror? It was nowhere to be found. I'll have to shave blind, I thought. So I began to shave the ginger stubble on my face.

Five minutes later, covered in blood, I hurried up to the general.

"I have carried out your order, Sir!"

"What order?" he replied with a puzzled expression.

"I shaved."

The general looked at me and was at a complete loss, as blood poured down my cheeks.

"Return to your battle station."

Many years have passed since then. I threw away my safety razor and now only use an electric one.

Vladislav Schnitzer is a journalist and pensioner living in Moscow.