I got my hands on an electric shaver for the first time around 1967. It was a hand-me-down, and it wasn’t exactly in new condition: I actually managed to cut myself with the darn thing. Worse, the handy detachable electric cord kept wanting to detach itself during the process, and though the water wasn’t running, I’d learned a healthy respect for dryness in the presence of 110 volts.
It was about this time I learned that women often shaved in the shower, and suddenly this didn’t make much sense to me:
I wasn’t about to ask my mom: we were a family who avoided at all cost discussing anything bathroom-related.
And I should probably point out that the electric weasel that ripped my flesh was not, in fact, from Norelco: it was, you guessed it, one of those scrape-back-and-forth jobs.
(Indirectly suggested by Chuck Pergiel.)