I stared at my face for a few seconds. The last time I could remember not shaving was probably back in 1990, or maybe at the end of 1989, before I off...cially entered the 1990 Congressional race. It felt strange - and strangely liberating. I slid my razor back into the slot in the holder and put the blades back in the medicine cabinet.“Wrong blades?” asked Marilyn.I turned to her and smiled. “No, they’re the right ones.”“So?”“So, I don’t want to shave this morning,” I told her.She gave me an odd. " He looked me up and down and nodded toward my wedding ring. "Let me guess, the wife's not holding up her end and you're feeling a little horny, my friend?"You're crazy..." I protested, but I could tell he caught the look of shock on my face, and he knew he nailed it."Am I? What color are my eyes, my friend?" I looked up at his face, with my face red as a tomato. The arrogant smile was bigger than before. "Exactly. Your eyes have been on the prize, the whole fucking time. 'Til now, you. More

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