The Electric Lie

‘Tis the season to be swindled once again by the promise of baby smooth cheeks without the risk of razors. Three pivoting "heads," comforting cream and no irritation is the false prophet's promise blasted on high over the Christmas cavalcade of commercials. Every year more and more unsuspecting chin-scraping fools fall for the Happy Norelco pitch. And every year, more and more stubble free dreams are dashed like puppies at the quarry. We’ve all been there, we have all given the electric razor a try and we have them all jammed in bathroom cabinets, where they collect dust atop the tad bit of beard dust they excavated one week after Christmas. Indeed, in less than a year, a perfectly respectable gift gets swallowed by the mighty mouth of the bathroom sink cupboard. There must be hundreds of them down under there already. And yet every Christmas we are once again drawn by the siren’s silky smooth call of the electric lie -– but be warned and heed the wisdom of wily whiskers; resist these Satanic stubble sirens! Or you shall surely suffer the clattering clutter that these so-called cutters leave in their whisker whacking wake.