What's his is ours and what's mine is my own

Shaving my legs has become difficult, and possibly even dangerous. Think about it: I'm huge, I cannot really reach my ankles, my right hand cannot really reach my left leg (meaning I'd have to shave with my non-dominant - that is, particularly clumsy - hand), and I'm handling a blade in a wet, slippery, confined space. Recipe for disaster? I was beginning to think so.

Further proof that Werner loves me: he is letting me use his electric shaver to do my legs.

(I guess his other options were: he shaves my legs for me; he prepares for a trip to emergency; or he endures increasingly furry legs until I can again reach them - and have the time to do so. But I do think his natural generosity was the main reason for granting me use of his shaver!)