A hole in the wall
I was down in Florida on vacation this week, and decided to "rough it"-one razor, one cream, one aftershave, cologne by Panama Jack. I know, barbaric.
A few days of sunbathing, overindulging, and petting manatees (I am my daughter's hero, big time), and the obligatory visit to friends who live on--so help me-- I Dream OF Genie Lane. Then we hit Disney. I have seen the end of the civilization. You would be well advised not to hum It's a Small World in my presense.
My incredibly considerate wife granted me a day off to pursue Cuban cigars, cock fights, and rum in the Miami area. I stumbled into a little barber shop that was displaced in time. There was a hand written sign that simply said "Shave. $6. Only great." How could I refuse?
Before I knew it, a cigar-chomping octegenarian, wielding a savage-looking straight, approached. I briefly considered that not a soul alive knew where I was, and visions of being sold for parts did cross my mind. Not to fear- I received one of the best shaves I can remember, and before long we were playing cards, downing cervesas, and smoking some of the strongest stogies imaginable. No one spoke a word of English, and I had a great time and a great shave from a scruffy old geezer who just plum knew what he was doing.
Sometimes it just all works out.
Chief Weasel and Director of the B&B Stjynnkii Membörd Dummpsjterd.
Baby Brain Smooth.
Life is too short to share that bacon with anyone.