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Scary monster in the medicine cabinet


My house was built in 1942. You know how to tell? Take the lid off the toilet and look for a date stamped inside the tank. They don’t stockpile toilets, a builder told me; unless your home has been victim of a toilet-shattering catastrophe, it will have been built within a few months of the date stamped in the ceramic.

Nineteen fourty two jibes stylistically with the fixtures. Like my medicine cabinet. Inside, lurking behind the eyedrops and the cough syrup and the ten year old mystery prescriptions is the sinister object pictured above: a razor blade disposal…hole. I’ve used it myself; I once favored a safety razor.

Where do the old blades go? Down into the walls, I guess. You sometimes hear them tink once or twice on the journey. For all I know, that hole goes all the way down to the ground level.

So, maybe, somewhere in my foundations rusts a jagged pile of old razor blades.

Dear Powers that Be: in future, please be aware that I prefer my life metaphors with a little subtlety. Must try harder. Sincerely, S. Weasel.


Comment from Pupster
Time: April 9, 2007, 1:17 pm

I’ve seen those before, I thought they were vacuum-tubes (like the bank drive-through) back to Gillette for re-sharpening.

Comment from S. Weasel
Time: April 9, 2007, 4:58 pm

Yes, that’s right, Pupster. And Grandma went to the Happy Place, where she’s waiting for you.

Comment from Muslihoon
Time: April 9, 2007, 8:30 pm

The “Happy Place”? Where is that? The psychiatric floor? A gay bar?

I still can’t believe someone made a song called “Gay Bar”.

Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: April 11, 2007, 7:57 am

I helped a friend remodel an old house once, and in the process of tearing out a bathroom wall I discovered what happens to those old razor blades that are dropped down the slot. I screamed, and tried to warn everyone, but no one would believe me. Later, they locked me up in this room.

The horror….

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