Come down watch the whole thing explode

In college I had a friend with a tendency to talk endlessly. Once, while walking together to the library to study, she regaled me with a story about the thoughtfulness of her new boyfriend.

It happened that he was going off-campus to the run some errands and so he asked her if he could pick up anything for her. She asked him to pick her up some shaving cream, and as he wouldn’t accept any money from him for the item, she requested whatever brand was cheapest. When he returned, he presented her with a can of brand name shaving cream made especially for sensitive skin. She was flattered! I guess when you’re in college nothing says ‘I really like you’ like national brand shaving cream, except for maybe a mixed CD.

All I could think of while listening to this story was: What about me says I care to listen to you talk about the shaving cream your boyfriend bought for you? What about me screams that I have so few interesting things going on in my life that I would find it interesting to talk about the purported meaning behind the extra $1.50 your boyfriend spent on you at the drugstore? Ninety-nine percent of me was certain that the dullness of the story was a reflection on the teller but a small part of me was filled with self-doubt: Was it me? Was I a dull-seeming person, deserving of mindless stories about shaving cream?

It was the birth of the Shaving Cream Complex. Definition time:

• Sha·ving Cream Com·plex /shey-ving kreem kuhm-pleks / n. characterizes the sense of self-doubt that creeps into my head when I find myself in a moderately depressing situation; one in which it is impossible to prove whether or not the sadness of the situation adheres in the situation itself or is a reflection on me. The mere idea that the situation I find myself in could be a direct reflection on me makes the situation exponentially more depressing and is a tremendous blow to my self-esteem.

The Shaving Cream Complex has continued to pop up in my life:

I might find myself at work, spending forty-five minutes looking for file, only to have the person who asked me to look for the file come back to tell me, rather unapologetically, ‘Whoops! I was wrong; it never existed.” In this moment, I think to myself: Is it me? Am I such a lackluster-seeming worker that hunting for something that never existed is as good a use of my time as any?

I might find myself out on a date, listening to my suitor tell me about how he’s recently started buying lunch meat to make himself sandwiches to take to work. In this moment, I think to myself: Is it me? Am I so bland-seeming a person as to be wowed by a man’s accomplishment of a menial task that most third graders wouldn’t pride themselves on?

When I find myself confronted by The Shaving Cream Complex, I take myself back to that walk to the library so many years ago when I resolved never to be the type of person to talk about, or seem deserving of listening to talk about, the merits of national versus store brand shaving cream gift purchases in the early stages of a relationship and things of that nature. There are far too many more important and interesting things to talk about, like common recipes that can be improved by the addition of bacon (Anything!) or Kim Richard’s abuse substance of choice (Everything!).

Hark: “Greeks! You were not born to live like brutes, but to press onward toward manhood and recognition!”

So tell me friends, have you ever been gripped by the Shaving Cream Complex? Or maybe you have a unique complex of your own. Do share.