A bubble of red appears below my knee, surrounded by the foamy white wisps of soap suds. It’s been years since I cut myself shaving. I blame the cheap new razor. I blame my husband for leaving the shaving cream out of reach on the bathroom counter. I do not blame my mother. Mom had never demonstrated the art of shaving when, as a middle schooler, I decided it was time. My friend on the other end of the phone line was shaving as we chatted.