Greetings from my hot but no longer scalding (like my body tepid but no longer warm) soak in the tub. My unscented bubbles are fizzling out. I’m sitting here with a ladies disposable razor gently floating from my hand while letting a realization sink in: I shave my armpits by braille.  
  
   Over the last couple of years my vision of close up objects has started to blur. I’ve started the stereotypical upward stretching of the brows, the widening of the eyes and the pulling of objects away from my face to focus on things at hand. I’ve naturally begun compensating for the gradual decline in focus but hadn’t realized until just now that it’s progressed as far as it has.
     
      This very bath while shaving my arpmits I thought “why am I even looking when I can’t tell anything at all?” That’s when I was struck by a realization: I was running my index finger along my flesh along with the razor to tell if there was stubble. I couldn’t see with my eyes if I had shaved every spot. The only way I know if my pits are shaved is by feel.

    There are certainly things that our elders neglect to mention. Maybe I will start a new series: “Things They Failed to Mention.”