dirty words on clean living by Steve Calamars

Jake runs the razor over his face. The blade is dull. He knows immediately that his wife Shirley has
shaved her snatch again –
Every few months she shaves the thing and ruins Jake’s razor. She refuses to use her own razor for the
certainty of ruining it. Instead she uses Jake’s and puts it back into the medicine cabinet, thinking he
doesn’t know.
He hates it terribly when she shaves it. It feels to Jake like he’s fucking a twelve-year-old. It makes
him sick to his stomach. Shirley though, for some reason has it in her head that he likes it. So every few
months she ruins his razor and surprises him one night.
Jake finishes shaving. His face feels like it has been repeatedly slapped by a hand made of sandpaper.
There are dozens of small nicks, cuts and rash spots along his cheeks, chin and neck. Jake dabs them with
toilet paper and pats his face with aftershave. The burning is immense and Jake wipes tears from his eyes.
He rinses with mouthwash and tosses the razor in the trashcan beside the toilet. He flips off the light and
walks from the bathroom into the kitchen.
Shirley is in her lacy nightgown making eggs and bacon. Jake sits down at the kitchen table and puts on
his work boots. She walks over with a plate of food and a cup of coffee. He stands up just as she sets the
plate down.
“I don’t have time to eat this morning,” Jake says, taking the cup of coffee, “I’m gonna’ be late.” “What
am I suppose to do with this food!?” she asks. “Feed it to the dog, I can’t be late.” “Feed it to the dog, why
didn’t you say something earlier!?” Jake doesn’t say anything, he takes a sip of the coffee and picks up his
coat hanging on the back of his chair.
“What happened to your face Jake?” Shirley asks, finally noticing the cuts. “Nothing,” he says, putting
down the coffee and putting on his coat. “Something, you look like you tried to kiss a weed-whacker.”
Jake doesn’t say anything, he picks up the coffee and takes a sip.
“What happened?” Shirley asks again, “Why does your face have all those . . .” “Cause you ruined my
god-damn razor again!” Jake says cutting her off. “No I didn’t!” “Bullshit Shirley!” “I’ve never used your
razor Jake,” she says, “I have my own, why would I need yours!?” “Forget it, I gotta’ get to work,”
Jake says. “No, no you tell me, why would I need yours, why would I lie!?” Jake takes a sip from the coffee, he
looks down at her crotch and then up at her face. He doesn’t say anything.
“I have my own, I don’t need yours!” she says. Jake grabs the truck keys from the hook near the door.
“What do you want me to do with this god-damn food?” she asks. “I told you, feed it to Buddy,” he says
walking out the door. “You’re a real asshole!” she says. “I know, I know I am,” Jake nods closing the
He climbs into the truck and starts it. It warms up while he sits, watching the birds and finishing his
coffee. He tosses the empty cup onto the lawn and backs out of the driveway.
He thinks to himself, work is gonna’ be rough today. With the number of shipments he has to make
sure get off the loading docks, plus the guys giving him shit for his face, Jake briefly considers turning the
truck around. He knows if he does though, he’ll have to go back home and deal with Shirley. If they do
manage to smooth things over and make up, he’ll have to fuck her with that sickening shaved snatch.
Jake decides against it. He instead merely flips on the radio, turns up the heat in the truck and gets onto
the freeway.

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