Thomas's first shave

Recently Thomas has sprouted like a weed (a weed that grows in a dark room, lit only by the glow of a computer screen) and is nearly the same height as Jami. Something else has sprouted, too: a soft, downy fuzz on his upper lip. He seemed rather fond of it, but his parents persuaded him that, if he really wanted to grow a proper handlebar, he had to get rid of the bumfluff that was blocking the path of the true wiry bristles. So I got out a new, super-safety razor (I use "Bump Fighter" brand - very hard to find outside of black neighborhoods, as they were "developed by black dermatologists to combat razor bumps") and filled a basin with nice hot water and persuaded him to come into the bathroom and become a man. All went well as I showed him how to lather up the shaving gel into foam (see our preferred brand below) and smear it over his upper lip, but as the blade was raised to his lips, he got serious cold feet.



I reached out to shave the lip and he simultaneously puckered up (I believe he thought this would make his lip easier to access) and grabbed hold of my arm with both hands. His brain seemed to be sending out conflicting messages.
"What does it feel like?"
I replied that there was only one way to find out, and that it didn't really feel like anything.
"Of course it feels like something! And how do I know you won't cut my lip?"
I showed him how the plastic ridge means the blade doesn't actually touch flesh and there was no chance of him being cut. Then I tried again, and once again the simultaneous puckering and grabbing. "Watch out," I said, somewhat testily, "or I really will cut you!"
"I THOUGHT YOU SAID THAT WAS IMPOSSIBLE!!!"
Realizing my tactical error, I suggested that I demonstrate on his forearm.
"But I like my man-hairs!"
Okay, how about the underside, where there are no man-hairs to lose?
"But what if you cut those veins - isn't that really dangerous?" (said while backing nervously towards the door.)
Finally I demonstrated on my own arm, he tried on HIS arm, and was finally ready for lip action. Pausing only to reapply foam (as, by this point, the original foam had vanished), we were off! I started him off, and he took over and got quite into it. No little toilet paper squares were needed, and as my preferred aftershave is Witch Hazel, no screaming in agony necessary. He examined the result:

 

"I miss my 'tache..." he said, wistfully (but no longer wispily), but there is no way back now...