I love to watch my husband shave.

He knows it, and indulges me. 

The ritual, the routine...it fascinates me. 

The way he turns his head this way and that, cranes his neck, tilts his jaw...all in an effort to rid himself of the last elusive whiskers.  The way the blade makes a clean swath across his face, the specks that are left in the sink.....the pins of blood that bloom pink into the foam should he be careless enough to nick himself. 

The smell and feel of his newly shaved skin as he presses his face to mine when he's done....there's nothing quite like it. 

Some of the best conversations we've had have been conducted in our bathroom, him with razor in hand and me perched on the toilet seat lid. 

There's something about watching him shave that I love.