LJ Idol, Week 14
Truly, it’s the little things. Okay, yes, that most certainly is a clichéd statement. Then again, a cliché can’t be a cliché without there first being something obviously consistent enough to warrant it being called as such, yes?
Great. Let’s zoom in on that thought.
I own an electric razor. It’s the third, maybe fourth, that I’ve owned in my lifetime actually. I’m comfortable enough with the everyday usage of an electric razor by now to know when I’m on the latter half of the razor’s lifespan. For one, the blades aren’t quite as sharp as they used to be. Sure, they whirl around like they always do, but they don’t quite cut as much as they pull at my facial hair.
And, sure, I could go to Target and get some replacement blades for my razor. Have you gone to Target and looked at the prices of replacement blades? Ridiculous. I’m better off either continuing with my slightly painful razor or just getting a new one eventually.
The second issue with my aging razor is its battery life; namely, how it’s pretty much diminished to nothing. This issue is only compounded these days when you consider that as soon as the battery starts to deplete, the razor loses power to the blades. Combine the slower speed of the blades with the dullness and you can imagine a very painful shaving experience. Therefore, my razor needs to be plugged into its charging cord, and the cord needs to be plugged into the wall, every time I go to use it.
However, it’s the third and final flaw of my aging electric razor that actually ties into the greater point I’m making today: The top hatch of the electric razor has weakened over its life, due to both normal use and being thrown around in the midst of traveling around. This hatch, when opened, gives you access to both the actual razor blades (for replacement or maintenance needs) and a holding area for all the facial hair stubble that gets trimmed by the blades.
When I first got the razor, I was pretty good about cleaning out the razor pretty often - maybe once every few uses. Overtime, though, I got a little lax on that front, usually ignoring it until I’d one day remember that I should do that. “Oh yeah, I wonder how much hair is in there now.” The answer is usually: A lot.
So now, with this weakened hatch…mechanism (for lack of a better word), the razor has a tendency to spring open from time to time when not in use, sending all the little facial hair stubbles across whatever surface is nearest. It’s messy and possibly a little gross. To make it worse, I am used to just carelessly tossing the razor in our bathroom’s basket (which holds most of the bath and hygiene products that we use often), usually in a rush to get out the door for work. As you can guess, its careless tossing like this that can cause the hatch to open - thus creating a little facial-hair-confetti-party in the basket.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. This is all some sort of strange allegory, right? This long winded explanation of my aging electric razor is somehow a complex comparison to the trials and tribulations of love and being in a relationship. Correct? Incorrect.
So, this past weekend was Cleaning Weekend. You know the one. Finally throw out those grocery store circulars that have been sitting on the counter longer then they should have been. Investigate the contents of the mystery container in the fridge. Discover things you forgot you owned. It’s never fun, but always useful.
Anyways, I had tackled the kitchen and she was cleaning the bathroom. We wrapped up around the same time and we met in the halfway point, the living room, to discuss some of the big plays of the day.
“I cleaned out the cabinets,” I said. “I finally threw out that stale box of cereal and that Christmas candy from last year.”
“Good,” she said, nodding. “I put your electric razor in it’s own bowl on the counter. It kept opening up and getting your little hair shavings all over everything. This way, if it opens up again, it won’t get all over everything.”
“Thanks,” I said, grateful. We agreed to take a break from cleaning to watch some television.
Here’s the thing though - and you might have missed it if you weren’t paying attention: Notice how she addressed the situation. She pointed out the issue that razor had a tendency to get hair clippings everywhere. She noted that said hair clippings get all over everything in the basket. She had cleaned out the bathroom, including the basket. She found a solution for the aging razor.
Yet, not at any time, did she actually complain. Now, perhaps, she was in the bathroom, cursing up a storm while she cleaned up after the combination of my carelessness and the razor’s faultiness. Perhaps she harbored feelings of resentment towards the concept of facial hair that was not already attached to my face. Still, there was no mention of it.
So, to go all the way back to my original point, there are big things. There are moments where you’re sitting on a grassy hill enjoying a picnic while letting feelings of new and exciting romance wash over you. There were those times when we could stay up all night talking about absolute nonsense. There were the hundreds of emails sent back and forth to each other in just one day.
You tend to miss the small moments when you're surrounded by those big moments; when you're lost in romance and excitement. Such is the way it goes when you're twitterpated. This isn't an argument against that new and exciting love, but it is confirmation that the very nature of feeling twitterpated changes over time.
Right now, I'm honestly happy and delightful with the fact that she took it upon herself to solve my exploding electric razor dilemma, without drama or incident. These are the little things. These are the little details that can only exist when two people are happy with one another. These are the happy little things that give this relationship life everyday. This is what it is to be twitterpated right now, though I tend to just call it love.