Oor en neus tondeuse – 2021 professionele pijnloze wenkbrauw- en gezichtshaartrimmer voor mannen vrouwen, batterij-aangedreven trimmer met IPX7 waterdicht, dubbele rand messen voor eenvoudige

I had been good lately so I got myself a gift. A treat. Well, in fact it had been inspired by a bit of workplace trauma, not quite on the level of a gaffe, but unpleasant nonetheless. My coworker, who shares the name of my lover (I won’t repeat it here) she said to me that I had a long hair peaking out from my nostril. I try to maintain a smooth face, but sometimes I’ll come home and hop right into the shower, hop right back out, and, fatigued as we all are after our daily labors, I will forget to shave before applying my lotion. I’m sure you have experienced the queasy feeling of running a simple grocery store Gillette over freshly lotioned skin, so I won’t detail it here. So, I bought the Braun Series 7 electric razor which allowed me greater freedom to do a quick once over after my morning or evening ministrations. I felt this level of grooming was sufficient, but it appeared that I was grossly mistaken, as after my coworker so bluntly informed me of my errant hair I entered our office washroom and there I saw not only the one thick black hair but several others, arranged somewhat like the stalks of a cattail or some other swampy reed, just jutting out. Luckily these companion hairs were blonde and so were only really noticeable under the fluorescents, at the level of proximity one really only shares with a lover (why mine did not tell me of the flaw in my nares, I’m uncertain). I tried to pluck the large, black hair but I had pared my fingernails just the night prior with my London Fog clippers (which I am fairly neutral on, never really having detected much of a difference between say a set of airport clippers or a set of grocery store clippers in my years so far) so I couldn’t get much of a grip, and when I could pull my eyes began to water and the pain was somewhat more than I expected. If I had had my London Fog tweezers (they were of a set with the clippers) I could have done the job quickly, without the agonizing, the tears, the feeling, one imagines, that the executioner has seeing their job get botched; so I stopped, I left the hair a quarter plucked (as that same executioner might leave the maimed guilty to bleed out). I didn’t want to go back out before my peers looking as if I had cried because that level of attention in an office as small as ours is something one does not need in one’s life, I’m sure you understand. I wiped my eyes. I finished my day. My grandfather had a nose hair trimmer that he quite loved. In his last years on earth, in his assisted care facility, the dear nurses would trim his hair (both nasal and aural) once a week while he told jokes. It hadn’t occurred to me that a trimmer like his would be something I’d need so soon in my life. There would be no way to know which brand he preferred, unfortunately, and probably it was long obsolete (he is now gone, bless him, years now moldering, agnostic, a joy to all who knew him, loved) so I just issued a simple query “nose hair trimmer” and there at the top of the list was the Zorami. I had expected to pay much more after the Braun but it seems one cannot form an easy heuristic for the level of specialization of a device relative to its cost. For twelve dollars it was a “steal”, and, as I said, I had been good lately, so why shouldn’t I indulge myself. It arrived the next day and I unpacked it. I removed a AA battery from our television remote to give it (it says not to leave batteries in it for a long period of time anyway, so I figured my M.O. would be to remove the battery after use and return it to the television remote cycling the one battery between the two devices as needed) and it whirred to life (a warmer more organic whir than expected, more cicada than blender). In my bathroom standing before the mirror I balked a bit considering the machinery of the thing. Within that slitted steel cover was a sharp steel blade with but one function, to spin to slash to level. All it would really take is one malfunction and the thing could split my septum which would no doubt be a bloody affair (I have it on good authority that in an ER to staunch these sort of wounds they’d shove a tampon up my nose). I set the Zorami down and went at the hair again with my pinched fingers (this time just forgetting entirely the existence of my London Fog tweezers, attribute it, I suppose, to the “heat of the moment”) to no avail and to some pain. I swore in front of my cat and I grabbed the Zorami and put it rather deeper than needed into my right nostril, and, preparing for the ripping for the stinging eyes for the possibility of mutilation, I flipped the switch to the ON position. Painless. You’d think nothing at all was happening, you’d believe that there had been some glitch, that I had slipped from corporeality this is how unfelt the machine was inside my face. So this is how my grandfather could joke, could sing snippets of operas I only knew from commercials, all while some cousin machine to this one had been operated in his face by a lovely caring nurse. The ease was beautiful and I wish likewise ease to all other living souls. The weekend is almost over and tomorrow I will present to my coworker throughout the Monday: my face, so subtly manicured; and I will see if she is able to note the small improvements in this world as well as she can note the small detractions. I’m not quite sure how to clean it.

Eficaz. Retira bem os pelos.

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