oh the perils of last minute shaving.

I hate it when you have to do last minute shaving. Scenario: It's late September and you're wearing long pants everyday lately. (you're a girl btw) Your showers in the morning have to be quick since you don't want to be late for class. Then, Monday night half an hour before you gotta go to the surf club meeting and then dodgeball club you realize you have to wear shorts to keep cool for the latter and that your legs feel like a furry beast. So what do you do? No shaving cream, you run into the bathroom and do a half shower, only sticking your legs into the warm water. (Because you don't have enough time to dry off from a full shower and getting your hair wet in 40-50 degree weather doesn't sound fun.)

You use your brand new razor, the old disposable one sitting at the bottom of the wastebasket. Quickly you run the razor over your legs and before you know it you're drying off and putting on your shorts admiring the fact that only your left knee is bleeding. You put on your converse after checking the time and fly out to the surf club meeting. Once you arrive a minute early, huffing and puffing for breath you realize your ankles are burning. hmmmm that's weird. Your ankles have never burned. Oh well,

it was probably from jumping the steps two or three at a time. You reach down the top of your high top converse and shift the ankle sock just as the leader starts talking.

Throughout the meeting your ankles still burn but you put it to the back of your mind and once the meeting seems just about over you run out and walk at a fast pace to the gym where you're only 30 minutes late (they both start at the same time but the dodgeball goes on for two hours). Tossing your water bottle and jacket

aside you join in, glad that you got there just as they were about to start a new game. After an hour and a half of running, dodging and throwing the night ends and you pick up your water bottle, realizing how painfully searing your ankles feel. Come to think of it they were throbbing the whole time.

"Alright. When I get back to my dorm I'll check it out," you say to yourself, following the others as they exit. But each footstep only seems to magnify the pain receptors in your feet. You get to your room and are only too eager to rip the godforsaken shoes off your aching feet. And there it is, a cut on the inside of each ankle

from shaving, red and sore. But, wait, what's that on the inside of your favorite converse? On the inside of the left shoe is a red splotch at least an inch across. You've been bleeding into your shoe for the last two hours. Congratulations.