Chapter Five
Christine
I’m currently sitting on a blush coloured leather sofa in the waiting room of hands down the fanciest day spa that I have ever set foot in. Over the last couple of days, it’s like a lightbulb went off and everything became clear. Sure, my life’s rut may have been catapulted into existence because of that good for nothing, cheating sack of shit, but the rut has managed to sustain itself because I lost myself when Todd and I were together. The more I think about it, the angrier I get because I have always prided myself on being independent and smart. But the sad truth is, I let Todd drain me. I can count the times that Todd encouraged or supported me on one hand, and I don’t even require all the fingers.
Everything we did was what he wanted to do. Do I like Indian food? No. I have a mild case of IBS and I hate the sensation of spicy food on my tongue. But Todd loved Indian food, so we ordered in at least once a week. And I’d eat it. Because I didn’t want to be fussy or a pain in the ass. I went to every single one of his architectural firm’s events. But when I had a modest Christmas party for my small staff at the bowling alley downtown, he couldn’t be bothered to come. Everything was for him. Everything was about him. And I let it happen. Because I saw a shiny happily ever after and managed to convince myself that we were in love and everything was and would always be amazing.
Well it’s safe to say that the rose coloured glasses have finally come off. Reality is looking me dead in the eye and I’ll be damned if I lose any more of myself.
So here I am on a Saturday morning, waiting to get my bits and back door completely and totally rid of their Chicago fur coat. I’m getting on a plane the day after tomorrow and I’m going to spend ten days in Maui with Kyle and his apparently dreadful family. I’m going to be a five star pretend girlfriend, get a fabulous tan and get back to me. A-fucking-men.
“Poppy Kramer?”
“Yes, that’s me,” I reply, standing.
I follow the young woman down a softly lit hallway, serene music plays quietly from the speakers in the far corner and I mentally kick myself for not booking a massage in addition to my hasty hair removal procedure. I’ve never gotten a Brazilian-style bikini wax, or been waxed at all with the exception of my eyebrows. Bell swears it only hurts for a second and she insisted that a paid trip to Maui was more than reason enough to get one.
“Right through this door,” she says. “Christine will be with you shortly. Strip from the waist down and lay back on the bed. There’s a sheet you can cover up with while you wait.”
“Great, thanks.”
I enter the small room and place my purse on the chair in the corner. I remove my shoes along with my leggings and thong and take a seat on the narrow bed. I look down at myself and think maybe I should have trimmed up a bit before I came. Oh well, I’m sure this lady has seen worse. I unfold the thin white sheet at the foot of the bed and pull it over myself as I lay back. The same music I heard in the hallway plays in here too and if I weren’t acutely aware of the fact that I’m about to have hair ripped off my asshole, I’d probably fall asleep. Soon enough there is a soft knock on the door as it opens slowly and an attractive middle-aged woman walks in.
“Hello Ms. Kramer, I’m Christine and I’ll be waxing you today,” she says.
“Hi,” I reply. “I should probably tell you, I’m a complete novice.”
“No problem,” she chuckles lightly. “Let me just grab my tray and we can begin.”
She steps over to the counter and places some wax strips and a large pot, along with a few wooden popsicle stick looking things on a white tray and wheels it to the side of the bed.
“Alrighty, let’s just pull this down,” she grabs the edge of the sheet and tugs it down, exposing my bottom half. “Bend you knees for me and place your feet on the bed,” she says.
I do as she says and it isn’t until she’s slathering the warm wax onto my furry left fold that I begin to think this is a terrible idea. Too late, Poppy, you’re getting the bald eagle special. When she rips the first strip off, I know for certain that this is a terrible idea. Christine is quick, I’ll give her that but by the time my front is completely done, my vagina hates me.
“All done,” she chirps. “Now if you could just flip over onto all fours we can finish you up.”
I awkwardly maneuver myself on the bed, propping myself up on all fours as if Christine is about to rock my world.
“Lift a cheek up for me dear,” she says.
Jesus Christ. I’m paying this woman to look my asshole in the eye.
I bite my lip and pray to the gods of hair removal for the strength to not pass out as Christine rips a strip off my virgin backdoor. Sweet merciful mother fucking shit.
Christine offers me a mirror once she’s finished but I politely decline. I can hardly look her in the eye, let alone her handiwork. I’m not sure how to act as I gingerly walk back to the reception desk and pay. It isn’t until later that night when I’m packing my suitcase that I finally strip off my bottoms and stand in front of my full length mirror. When I finally bring my gaze down to my now bald vagina, I stare for a minute before I pick my cell up and text Tully.
Me: Have you ever gotten a Brazilian?
I continue to eye myself up in the mirror while I wait for her response.
Tully: I’ve had three kids, Poppy. My pubes are the only thing hiding the fact that my labia are now lopsided and floppy.
Me: I’m looking at myself right now. I got one today. For the trip. She looks angry. And red. Like a puff pastry that wants to kill me. Do you think this lasts long? Christine probably explained it but I was too mortified to listen.
Tully: Who’s Christine? I’m googling. Hang on.
Me: The woman who saw my asshole today.
Tully: Red is normal. Should be gone by tomorrow. You should exfoliate twice a week while you’re gone.
Me: Love you.
Tully: Love you too. Have fun and find someone to give you an orgasm. Or five.