Call it the Battle of Wounded Face.

You know what it’s like. You have that one special razor.

You use it, putting it in the right hiding spot. Some married friends of mine say this is an effective tool to keep the spouse from using it.

And you’ve heard the line.

&uot;But honey, I like your razor. It’s a lot better than the one I use.&uot;

Of course, when you get it back and try to use it, your face is all cut up like you’ve been in a barroom brawl.

I didn’t have anything like that. However, the end result was quite similar.

I was working out at the Y this past week (sans FastAbs, thank you) and decided to shave after I got out of the steam room.

Yesterday, it was time to shave again. Not only was I due, but I had an important meeting up in the Cities.

I was meeting with other editors in our company to talk about issues on how we can each make our newspapers better. Not only was my boss going to be there, but my boss’ boss.

Naturally, I didn’t want them asking why I looked like I had been sleeping in a boxcar.

So yesterday morning, I looked for my special razor … to no avail.

After frantically looking around the apartment, I figured I must have left it at the Y after my 10 minute workout and 50 minute whirlpool session.

So I turned to Plan B. I knew that

somewhere, I had a package of disposable razors. Sure enough, I found one.

If any of you fellas (or ladies) use one of those razors that have three blades, you know that’s the only way to go. You’re done fast and you get a good shave.

However, I was back to basics with this yellow disposable contraption.

Twenty minutes later, I was done.

Unfortunately, it looked like I had catsup splattered on my face.

So I showered and figured the soap would help ease the knives that were being thrust into my chin.

That was a massage compared to splashing some cheap musk on it afterward, which was as pleasant of a feeling as a root canal.

So I started the drive up to the Cities. I figured I could hit that rest area just on the other side of Faribault, to make myself look halfway presentable.

Of course, Murphy’s Law kicked in.

I got about a mile from there when a sign said &uot;Rest Area Closed.&uot; There was an adjacent bridge being replaced.

Yee-haw.

So I drove up to the meeting and arrived about 25 min. early. I ducked into a washroom and cleaned up the best I could.

The meeting went fine. And no one was the wiser about my skirmish earlier in the morning.

So what’s the moral here? Don’t try to slick on by with a cheap or heavily used razor.

Your boss is counting on you.

Dan Fields’ column appears on Fridays in the Herald. E-mail Dan at dan.fields@austindailyherald.com and let him know if his razor turned up near the treadmill.