A regular muggle living in an all to muggle-world, a little part of me died when I realised I'd never get to go to Hogwarts. I want to be 11 again. But it's too late, cause Severus Snape's already dead. So is Michael Jackson. Why am I always just a little too late? The name's Nisha. Welcome to my world.

The title is true. Seriously. Don't worry, I'll try my best to spare you guys the details.

So yesterday while I was taking a shower I saw a razor on the toilet floor. Not very safe, I know. But I saw it and picked it up before anyone got hurt.

So I tried shaving the hair on my right leg. Fucking thing didn't cut a single hair. Do your job, stupid razor. I bet you flunked razor school. But as I made mean remarks about that razor, I ran my fingers through it thinking nothing would happen. I mean, come on. It couldn't even cut a fine hair on my leg.

But I thought wrong. It ended up cutting all five fingers on my right hand. And now my finger tips look like fish asses. With the scales and what not. Applying soap to my body was hell cause of the cut fingers. Unlucky.

This experiment is too incomplete to make a conclusion.
I still have a problem to solve.
How did the razor cut my fingers when it couldn't even shave off any hair on my leg? Is it a monster in disguise? Sesat jalan? Tak kuat iman? I have no idea.


Fucking razor.