I recently celebrated my six-month anniversary with something truly special, my disposable razor. Our meet cute happened at CVS after a long, cold, hairy winter. I was appreciating the gentle breeze tousling my leg hair, but the rest of the yuppies on my commute were not. Standing in the fluorescent aisles of the shaving section, I first noticed the gentle curvature of its ergonomic handle then the sale price. That baby was in my shopping cart faster than I could pull up my grandmother’s CVS Care Card. Like Tinder but in real life and for consumer goods. Over the next six months, my weekly to monthly congress with this razor has proved more regular and more fulfilling than relationships with the following men in my life.

1. Gustav the foreign exchange student I thought would be cool with leg hair but totally wasn’t
   I met Gustav while he was on a pub crawl with his tall, handsome Swedish classmates. I’d heard the stereotype that European women don’t shave, so I felt pretty confident Gustav wouldn’t mind my nice jungle of body fuzz. It turns out Gus was just as influenced by female balding patterns in pornography as his American cousins! Luckily for restrictive beauty standards everywhere, I’d just busted open a new triple-blade and turned that stubble into rubble. But alas, Gustav returned to his icy homeland leaving me with nothing but a hot pink razor and severe abandonment issues regarding Ikea.

2. Oliver, my favorite pizza delivery boy
   Oliver himself was just learning to shave the first time I buzzed him to my third-story walk-up. Unlike his predecessor, he bravely ventured the flights of stairs to bring the pie to my doorstep. That kind of dedication is rare in men, and indeed in disposable razors. Oliver ensured my pizza was delivered promptly, and knew my order by heart. He never shamed me for eating a large pizza for dinner three nights in a row and even brought me extra garlic sauce. But, as many fifteen-year-olds are wont to do, he returned to New York Public Schools at the end of the summer, leaving a pizza-delivery-boy shaped hole in my heart and using the same razor as I had been when he was first hired. Five stars on Yelp, Oliver!

3. Andrew from Tinder
   Andrew wasn’t the worst tinder date I’ve ever had. The five months we spent together were beautiful at times, but ultimately, they had nothing on my long-term committed relationship with my razor. Over the course of our lukewarm but adequate romance, I spent more time shaving than Andrew and I did in bed. He swore he didn’t mind my hair because he was a male feminist, but this was as performative as the rest of his politics. Soon his inability to talk about his feelings or introduce me to his friends forced me to take the metaphorical razor to our relationship.

4. Hot Landlord Tony
   Oh Tony. At first, I was excited to have a young, single landlord. Unfortunately, Tony’s youth and relative attractiveness prevented him from fixing the perpetual leak in my bathroom ceiling. In the ensuing ceiling collapse, I had to discard most of my ill-advised Glossier purchases but not my favorite razor! Though Tony’s negligence had sacrificed many of my beauty necessities, the razor proved resilient. Indeed, more resilient than my broken lease with Tony.

5. My four-month-old nephew Jason
   I definitely used this razor to shave before my sister’s baby shower, which means it’s a full 50% older than the living human being she gave birth to. Unlike a baby, this razor cost a few dollars and doesn’t need a college fund. Like a baby, I’ll probably carry this thing around for about nine months and toward the end it’ll do some real damage to my labia.

Some might say it’s time to move on from this razor, and they may be right. I’ve avoided MRSA thus far, but razors, like men, cannot last forever. Its blades have warped and metal slowly rusted, but what can I say, when it comes to shaving supplies, I’m a serial monogamist.