The smell of sizzled flesh is strong in my nostrils; today I had my face lasered.
Once again the nice lady that does this to me told me how happy I always seem and that at least I do not swear like all her other clients. "Oh really?" I say mildly as the room pitches and sways with peculiarly perverse pain. It really is quite exquisitely agonising but I try to be as polite and charming as possible. I am sure I am spouting all kinds of drivel, but by showing no pain I get out in half the time and save cash. Hooray!
Why the boat-race lasered? To save pain and discomfort, oddly enough. Every morning I cut my face to ribbons with a razor, my face is a mass of tiny scars, only to look in the mirror and see a face that clearly has not shaved in days. Electric razors are hopeless, especially given my manual dexterity. So I am having my folicles fried so I never have to shave again.
Only three full sessions so far (including today) and I am terribly pleased. Not only is my beard-line amazingly reduced I also have an anecdote. All it costs is money and looking like I have mange for a few days after it has been done.