I’ve never been all that good at shaving. This odd and somewhat barbaric cultural custom requires a substantial degree of patience and care, but when the time comes to remove the morning stubble, I am always in a hurry. Today’s high tech disposable razors are remarkably sharp, and I am not safe with one unless I’ve used it way past the usual disposal time and it is as dull as a butter knife. As a result, I often nick myself creating tiny bleeders that would be a great embarrassment out in the world.
Enter the messy, chalky, but completely essential styptic pencil. Yes, it stings a bit, but I don’t mind. The stinging tells me I’ve hit the right spot, and the astringent is doing its job. And it never fails. A quick dab with this wet rock immediately stanches the bleed. If I forget to wash my face off later, the pencil leaves unattractive white marks behind, but I find they come off in the shower without restarting the flow of blood. Amazing. I keep one at home and in my traveling toiletry bag.
I don’t know who first introduced me to the styptic pencil, but I would like to thank whomever it was in absentia. You did me a great service. In turn, I have carried on the tradition by giving my son his first styptic pencil when became a shaver.
