I RELAX MY arms and legs on the purple yoga mat and breathe deep, aware of my chest and abdomen rising.
Shavasana. My favorite part of yoga.
“Let your body move deeper and deeper into a state of total relaxation.” The yoga instructor clinks her little brass gong.
I close my eyes, waiting for my mind to relax and go blank into a meditative state. It doesn’t. Too much floats around in my head. The wedding, the bachelorette party that’s only a few days away, and now the honeymoon that has still yet to be planned. Plus, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m forgetting something.
“Open your eyes. Bring back your awareness to the surroundings of the room. Roll onto your right side and gently use your hand to press your body back up.” The instructor brings her palms together over her chest. “Namaste.”
“Namaste,” I say quickly, and kneel to roll up my mat. I’m sweaty and sore and in need of a hot shower.
Jayne is on the mat next to me and already has her phone out. I crane my neck and catch a glimpse of profile pics sliding by. “Nope. Nope. No fucking way.” Her finger furiously swipes left. Since her breakup with Juan, she has been in panic mode to find a new man. “There are no good men on this app. Just assholes looking to get fucked.” An older woman gasps and gives Jayne a look of disgust. “Oh, get over it, Grandma.” Jayne waves her off dismissively.
The woman storms off, horrified. I don’t blame her. This is the third yoga place Jayne and I have relocated ourselves to, because when Jayne has a bad day, so must everyone around her. Not exactly the yogi way. I think she may be missing the point of yoga.
“Jayne, really? You need to control yourself.”
“This is not the ’50s. I can say fuck if I want.” Jayne cups her hands over her mouth and addresses the stragglers still in the room packing up their gear. “Attention everyone! Fuckity fuck fuck fuck! And if you fuckers don’t like it you can nama-stay home.”
“Jayne!” I grab her hand and pull her off to the side, out of sight. “What the hell? What has gotten into you?”
“Nothing. Only that I realized I’m going to be alone forever.”
“You’re not going to be alone forever. You’re gonna find someone great, fall in love, and live happily ever after. I promise.”
“That’s total bullshit and you know it,” she bites. “Want to hear something crazy? No, make that insane. My brother met someone. My brother. And last night he told us they are ring shopping. Can you even fucking believe that?”
No. No, I cannot. Jayne set me up on a blind date with her brother before I met Matthew. We went on one date. The guy is the biggest douche on earth. Seriously, he could win a contest.
“Jayne, you are going to meet the perfect someone very soon.” I’m sure of it. She’s beautiful and intelligent; maybe she could tone down the anger issues, but otherwise she’s a catch. Men drool over her.
“I did. Juan. He was perfect in every way except that he deals drugs. I can’t be with a drug dealer.” She drops her shoulders and stares up at the ceiling. “Can I?”
“You have no proof that’s what he does. You’re just guessing. Why don’t you just talk to him? Maybe you can work things out?”
“Excuse me.” The yoga instructor approaches us gingerly, and it’s easy to see that her bright blue Lululemon pants are in a bunch. “My studio is a sanctuary for love and light. No anger, no judgment, and no pain.”
“We know. Don’t worry. We’ll go somewhere else for our love and light from now on. I’m sorry,” I apologize for Jayne, and the woman breathes a sigh of relief and gives us a curt bow before prancing away. Dammit. We’re running out of studios. Soon, we’re gonna have no other options but to stream yoga videos and do it in Jayne’s living room. We grab our stuff and exit the facility.
“You want to do a late lunch?” Jayne nods to the diner across the street.
“I’m kinda sweaty, but yeah, I guess I can. Just give me a sec to check in with work real quick.” I retrieve my phone from my bag. As usual, the home screen is covered with Instagram alerts and missed messages, but there’s also a calendar reminder loaded with exclamation points. Huh? I quickly type in my code and click on the reminder. Have I forgotten something important for work?
Appointment with Dr. Powers!!!!! 4pm. Show up early to fill in paperwork!!!! Don’t forget!!!!!!
Holy. Shit. The new gynecologist. The one Robin recommended. The one with the two-month waiting list. I glance at the clock. 3:37 p.m. Crap. What do I do? I can’t miss this appointment. And not just because I was referred by Robin and it’ll take months to get another appointment, but because I need my birth control refilled. Less than three weeks until our honeymoon, and even though I’ve put the kibosh on sex, the way things tend to work out for us, I cannot take a chance.
“Jayne, forget lunch. I gotta go. I totally forgot all about an appointment. I’ll call you later.” I throw my mat and bag in the back seat, plonk down, slam the door, and start the car. Jayne gives me a puzzled look, but I have no time to explain. Shit. Shit. Shit. How could I have forgotten?
I barrel down the road way over the speed limit until I reach the train tracks. Red lights flash and the barricade lowers. I peer down the tracks and see no end to the colorful box cars starting to pass by. I’ll be stuck here for at least five minutes. I slam my head back on the headrest and close my eyes.
Just relax. No need to panic. I open one eye and look at the clock. 3:40. It takes less than ten minutes to get to the Danielses’ from here, and the doctor’s office is only about five minutes away from their house. That leaves me five minutes to run in quick and take a shower. Only five minutes to wash off yoga sweat before a gynecological exam. Gross.
I look up and scream at the train in anger. “Move!” Every second is precious. The train continues to chug on by at a seemingly snail’s pace. “Move, move, move!” It’s a desperate plea. I’m now down to a four-minute shower… three. There is no way I can skip out on the shower. I would rather die than go to the gynecologist without showering, let alone after a sweaty workout. Three minutes… two. Shit.
The last box car passes by and slowly the gates lift. I take off like I’m Danica Patrick with a revved-up start, feeling my stomach drop. It almost feels as if I’m airborne, flying over the tracks. I speed down the road and shave a full minute off my time, where I see Mrs. Daniels’s car in the driveway. Crap. That means I’ll need to waste at least thirty seconds making small talk, explaining my crazed rush.
“Hi, it’s me, Holly,” I holler into the house, seeing no sign of Mrs. Daniels. “I forgot about an appointment and I’m super late. I need to jump in the shower and go. Okay?” I hope I’m heard and won’t need to give any further details. Taking the stairs two at a time, I run toward the bathroom, already starting to lift my shirt. With a free hand I twist the doorknob. It’s locked. What?
“Sorry, I’m in here,” a little voice yells out.
“Lola?” I question. “Is that you? What are you doing here?”
“No, it’s Nina. We have cheer and I’m using Grandma’s bathroom to get ready ’cause she has the glitter over here, but I think I used too much. I’m trying to wash it.”
Glitter. Shit. This is my fault. I was supposed to tell Mrs. Daniels no more glitter.
“Oh, um… hon, I really need to use the bathroom. Can you come out so I can get in real quick?”
“One or two?”
“What?”
“Do you have to go one or two?”
I love them dearly, but why are little kids such buttheads sometimes? “I just need to use the shower. I’m all sweaty and I have a doctor’s appointment in—” I look at the clock in the hall. “—in five minutes. Oh gosh, please hurry.”
“Okay,” she says through the door, but as I stand there tapping my foot waiting, she doesn’t emerge.
“Nina?”
“One more sec.”
I wait as “one more sec” becomes more like two more minutes.
The door finally opens and out walks my sparkling little soon-to-be niece.
“Whoa, Nina, that’s a lot of glitter.”
“You can still see it? I thought I got it all off.” She examines her arms, and I don’t know how she doesn’t see that she looks like a miniaturized version of C-3PO.
“Eh, you’re fine. You can’t really see it,” I fib. I can’t risk telling her she needs to keep scrubbing, and squeeze past her into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. The counter is a disaster of hair bows and piles of gold glitter. It appears Nina was not the only one over here sneaking in some of grandma’s secret stash.
I start the water in the shower and shut it off. Do I even have time to shower? I’m already late, but if I’m too late they might cancel the appointment on me. There’s no time. What do I do? I groan out a sigh, knowing the only answer. Running the water in the sink instead, I grab a washcloth off the counter. This is horrific, what I’m about to do, but there isn’t really any other option. I must go for the dreaded spot wash. Pumping a squirt of liquid soap onto the washcloth, I lower my sweaty yoga pants and try to make myself as presentable as possible in the shortest amount of time.
This is disgusting.
I’m disgusting.
But I have no time for self-loathing at the moment; there’ll be plenty of time for that later. I go in for a second squirt of soap and do a quick wash to both armpits, finishing off the “bath” with a quick spritz of scented hairspray because that’s all I can find. I toss the washcloth into the hamper and lean over to smile into the mirror for a teeth check. Normally, I would brush my teeth before an appointment, but today gum is going to have to do the trick.
I make the mad dash back to my waiting car, thankfully managing to avoid Mrs. Daniels. Of course, I hit every red light on my way to the doctor’s office but amazingly still somehow manage to show up only eight minutes late. Panting and out of breath, I run up to the receptionist and check myself in, apologizing profusely to the woman behind the counter.
“It’s okay, Dr. Powers was called away for an emergency, but he should be back soon.” She hands over a clipboard. “In the meantime, you can fill these out.”
I take a seat in the waiting area and frantically begin to fill out the pages and pages of personal information. Why I rush, I have no idea because an hour goes by and the doctor still hasn’t returned from his emergency. I could have easily taken a shower and made it in plenty of time. Oh, well.
As I wait and wait, I start to fidget in my seat. I’m so freaking itchy from my washcloth bath. I wiggle my bottom side to side, trying to find a discreet way to relieve some of the discomfort down below. That does nothing. There is only one other woman in the waiting area, and I make sure she isn’t looking before I change my wriggling to a front-to-back motion across the chair. Nothing. No relief. I look around for a bathroom, needing a private place for an intimate scratch. It’s not in the waiting area. I walk over to the desk and clear my throat.
“Holly.” A young woman in scrubs enters the waiting area. “You can follow me.”
I’m so relieved to finally be called in that it distracts me away from my issue at hand… well, not hand.
My weight is recorded along with the date of my last period, and I’m handed a gown.
“Everything off, opening to the front. The doctor will be in shortly.”
I have a fear of being walked in on while I’m mid-undress and peel off my clothes at warp speed, then slip into the gown and take a seat on the table. As soon as I’m seated, the itch returns, but right before my hand can creep under the gown for a quick scratch, there’s a knock on the door and the doctor walks in, accompanied by the young woman who brought me in.
“Hello, Holly,” he says, looking up from his chart. “I’m Dr. Powers, it’s nice to meet you.”
“You too,” I say shyly, and blush because I’m naked and know what he’s about to do and what those little instruments on the metal table next to me are for.
“What brings you here today?”
“I was referred by Robin Daniels. I just need a routine checkup and a refill on my birth control.”
“Okay, we can take care of that.” He takes a seat on the stool and rolls in closer. “Put your feet up here and slide down toward the end of the table.”
God, these appointments never get easier. Never mind the fact that I have the extra fear today with my wash ’n’ go situation.
“Just relax. You’re going to feel a little pressure.” I stare up at the ceiling and try my hardest to do as I’m told and relax, not clench like I want to. “So, you’re related to Robin?”
“No, not yet,” I say, and wince at the pressure he promised. “Soon though. I’m marrying her husband’s brother. He’s a PA over at St. Peter’s in the ER.”
“Matthew? Right?”
“Yes, that’s him.”
“Yes, I know Matthew. I see him sometimes when I do my rounds at St. Peter’s.”
“That’s awesome.” That’s awesome. Is that what I just said? Because what I really want to say is, well this just got even more awkward. Meeting one of my fiancé’s colleagues while he examines me internally. Wonderful. Matthew never mentioned that he knew Dr. Powers. Wait… did I even tell Matthew about this appointment? Everything’s been so crazy lately. I might not have mentioned it.
“Hmm?” The pressure subsides and I hear a piece of equipment clunk back down on the metal tray on the table. “This is interesting. Did you do this for me?”
I lift my head up and look down by my raised feet. I can’t see the doctor, but I do see the nurse trying to maintain her professionalism by suppressing a giggle.
“Interesting?” Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound good. “Is everything okay… down there?”
“Everything is fine. I’m just commenting on all the sparkle. Okay, scooch back and sit up for me.” He rolls away from the table and stands up to continue the examination.
Sparkle? What is he talking about? The front of my gown is lowered and he instructs me to lift my arm.
“Oh, I see we have more sparkle here, too.” This time I can see his face and there’s a smile that goes all the way up to his eyes. I glance down at my exposed armpit and see a trail of gold glitter.
Oh my God. I snap my arm down and squeeze it tight against my body. The washcloth. Nina. No. I take a breath as the pieces come together in my head. The glitter. The itching….
My vagina is covered in glitter.
Deep breath.
MY VAGINA IS COVERED IN GLITTER.
It’s almost impossible to keep my composure through the rest of the exam. Mortified is an understatement. I try really hard not to be angry at the little girls who accidentally caused me to sparkle up my cooch. It wasn’t their fault. But I’m humiliated and want to blame someone.
No tears. I will not cry.
But something really needs to give. At the very least, our living situation needs to change. I think I’m at the point where I would go back to the powerless, damp apartment and live in it as is. A little mold never killed anyone. Did it?