No one said anything else as she pulled up in front of the beauty salon. Instead, we all sat staring at it like it was a bomb.
“Do I really have to do this?”
“Yup,” Sadie sang cheerily, popping the ‘p.’ “Now, let’s get in there and get it over and done with.”
Reaching out and grabbing Santana’s hand, I squeezed it tightly. “Don’t let go.”
“I won’t let go, Jack,” she whispered, almost making me laugh at the line from Titanic—almost. With the future of my vagina at risk, it just didn’t happen, though.
After telling the woman at the desk what I wanted, Sadie waved me into the room waiting for me.
“I’ll wait for you ou—”
My hand moved quickly, clamping down around her wrist. “Oh, don’t you dare. You’re the one who brought me here for this… this…”
“Twat torture?” Santana suggested, looking around us like spikes were going to come out of the walls and stab us.
“Yeah, exactly that. You made this happen so you can hold my hand while they kill my twat,” I hissed at Sadie.
“You don’t understand, I have PTSD. I can’t even have candles around the house because of it. Every time I see an ad on Facebook for wax—and for some reason, I’m inundated with the stuff now—I feel like I’m gonna pass out, and my poor nunney screams,” she rasped.
“I did this so you’d feel sexy and make a move on Marcus, which would give you your groove back.”
“Cool, but you’re still holding my hand through this shit.”
Whimpering, she swallowed loudly, but just as she opened her mouth, the lady doing it all came in and smiled warmly at us.
“Okay, which one of you is Adrienne?”
Twenty-five minutes later…
Why, why, why had I decided to start with my legs? If I’d known how painful they were going to be, I’d have just told her to do my bikini line and would have shaved and moisturized like a smart person when I got home.
But no, the woman had been so nice and calming, I’d agreed to go the whole hog. With each strip of skin and flesh torn off my legs, I’d squeezed my friends’ hands tightly, all of us screaming at the same time.
And that pain had nothing on what was going on between my legs at that moment.
Shockingly, it’d been Santana who’d told her to do the full Brazilian, not Sadie. When she’d said it, I’d looked up at her tearily. “I thought you were nice.”
Wincing as the second load of wax was applied, she grimaced. “I’m sorry, it’s book research.”
Which led me to now. Granted, my vagina hadn’t been waxed shut like Sadie’s, and I was reasonably sure my legs weren’t waxed to it either, but I’m not sure that even made a difference at this point.
On the next rip, I screamed out, unable to hold it back.
Grabbing a fist full of Sadie’s hair, I cried, “T-t-tell me how m-m-much of my vagina she just r-r-ripped off.”
Trying to tug her hair out of my grasp, Sadie growled, “I’m not looking at your snatch. That’s a whole new realm of friendship I’m not ready for.”
“You got me into this mess, so you’re gonna check on it and pay for any reconstructive surgery I need on it.”
The wax bitch looked up from her position between my legs and grinned. “There’s no skin missing, just the hair. I’ve only got two more to do, and you’re done.”
It sounded so easy and lulled me into a false sense of security. I’d survived it this far—what was two more in the grand scheme of things?
The answer was: they were everything.
Cold water didn’t help. Squeezing the shit out of the aloe plant I’d stolen from Nonna didn’t help. Ice didn’t help. Frozen peas didn’t help. Bronte’s diaper cream didn’t help. And air? Yup that didn’t help either.
None of it even touched close to reducing the burning on my twat, one that was so hot, I probably could have cooked s’mores on it.
Why did people do this to themselves? Why didn’t they just trim it and shave it? And more to the point: how did they do this repeatedly?
When I’d waddled out of the waxing room, looking like John Wayne after shooting a movie, the woman at the desk had the audacity to ask me if I wanted to book the next appointment for it in four weeks.
No word of a lie, I’d had my legs about three feet apart, each step making me whimper as sweat rolled down my face, and she was asking if I wanted to do it again?
I’d shuffled out of there as quickly as my inferno vagina would let me, and then spent ten minutes trying to get into Sadie’s SUV without passing out.
Which brought us to now. Like what I’d just gone through wasn’t bad enough, we’d been discussing period pains and how nothing worked for them. Yeah, apparently, when your twat’s in agony, you move on to other things that cause it the same amount of pain, like periods.