Last week I was on my way to get a spray tan for an event I would be attending a few days later. I was in a rush because I had been putting it off and now my time had run out. As I pulled into the salon parking lot, I realized I had forgotten to exfoliate and shave my legs. No sense in getting a spray tan and then having to go home and shave it off.

Fuck, I spat out, as I pulled back out of the driveway. Rather than go home, I decided to just pop into the drug store, buy a disposable razor and do a quick shave at the tanning salon. I purchased supplies and returned to my car, and for some odd reason decided to just shave my legs in the Walgreen’s parking lot.

I started with the powder. I miss the old smell of Johnson’s Baby Powder since it has been discontinued. It’s hard for me to understand how Elon Musk can put a hotel in space, but Johnson’s can’t figure out a way to make the old yummy-smelling powder without cancer cells in it. I mean, they figured out how to take the caffeine out of coffee. I ordered a salad the other day and requested no croutons. What’s going on over there at Johnson’s?

But I digress.

I tore off the packaging, and mistakenly turned the lid to “Dump” instead of “Sprinkle.” The powder emerged in a thick swath that covered my legs, my clothes, the seats and the car mats. I tried my best to clean it up, retrieving towels from the back of my car. I used my water bottle to wet the towel, which I then used to wet my legs to get rid of the excess powder. The interior of my Audi now had a fine dusting of powder granules floating through the air, catching the early-spring sunbeam shining down from the clouds.

The prettiness of the car powderbeam distracting me, I pondered my next move. Things were going downhill quickly.

Forget the powder, I thought. Why the hell did I use powder anyway? Just a little bit of water will be fine, I figured. I poured water on the razor and a little on my leg. The razor immediately began emitting shaving foam, because I unknowingly had bought a razor that emits shaving foam.

Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

The foam spilled over and onto my rugs and steering wheel, but I continued to shave my leg. I opened my car door so that I could pour water from my water bottle onto the razor in an attempt to clean it between shaving strokes. I missed once or twice, the foamy stubbles plopping onto my Audi floormat. I hiked my skirt up to my hips to shave my upper thigh, reminding myself that lack of a man to touch my thighs should never be used as an excuse to shirk good grooming.

I had finally shaved one leg. I placed the razor in my mouth to hold onto it while I wiped the shaved leg down with the wet towel, and it was at this moment that I heard a voice.

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

I looked up into the face of a thin man in ragged clothes addressing me through the car door passenger window. I tried to imagine how the scene looked from his eyes. Powder, foam, towels, me with a razor in my mouth, my skirt hiked up to my hips and looking dumbfounded at his presence at my window. I knew what he was going to say.

“Do you need help? Are you in some kind of physical distress?”

But that’s not what he said.

“I’m sorry to bother you, and I’m so embarrassed to ask you this. I’m a disabled veteran, and I am $3.83 short for bus fare. Can you spare anything to help me get home?”

HE was embarrassed? I started to laugh, but then thought he might take it the wrong way. Still gripping the foamy razor between my teeth, I reached into my wallet and handed him $10, the implication being that he would never mention to anyone the display he just witnessed. He thanked me profusely, and I wished him luck. He began to walk away from my car when he suddenly paused.

“You know,” he said, pointing to the car maintenance garage across the street, “that auto place has public bathrooms. Good coffee. Folks are nice. That’s where I go when I want to get cleaned up.”

I looked in the direction he was pointing and nodded. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll keep that in mind.” He waved and smiled and bid me goodbye.

Yep. I shaved the other leg in the auto place while sipping a cup of damn fine coffee.