Yesterday I was standing at the bathroom mirror messing with my hair. Andy came into the bathroom and started rooting through the drawers. He does this a lot, but I prefer it to his other bathroom activity: standing on the toilet throwing Tums on the floor.
I was pretty intent on my hair-ironing, and it was quiet, though I could feel him at my feet. I finally looked down to see what he was doing.
He was sitting on the bathmat holding a [capped] disposable razor. He was running it up and down his legs.
That doesn't bode well.
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