Oh my dear God, killherinstead!
My body slaps with an insufferable amount of heat, and I can feel my cheeks ready to burst into flames—bothsets.
“I assure you I know how to wipe my bottom,” I grit the words through my teeth, just daring her to challenge me on this. “I’m front to back all the way.” Throw me a fucking bone, Sally. Can’t you see we’re practically standing in the armpit of the Kragger’s Foods Frat? There has to be at least a dozen men circling the outskirts, suddenly interested in how this fecal contaminated chick flick ends. “And are you sure that prescription is for me?” My God, all the man did was run a swab down mythroat.
“It’s for you.” She winkles her nose. “Well, this kind of infection could be due to sexualactivity,too.”
“That’s it!” Ha! Redemption! I slap the counter so hard my fingers nearly snap off before turning to face my favorite preppy frat brat. “I have lots andlotsof sex.” I shed a cheesy smile, and he grimaces in response. Oh, go to hell. “Loads of it,” I snip before turning back to Sell-Out-Sally here who has no problem roasting a fellow sister over the sexual flames. “I should have known it would come back to bite me in the butt so tospeak.”
The lunatic ringing up my order sniffs. “Yeah, anal will do it everysingletime.”
Anal? As in the no-fly zone?Gah! Gah! Gah!Abort the mission and run like hell! Abort! Abort!Abort!
My entire body begs to dissolve in the boiling cauldron of sweat that my yoga pants have turned into. Good God, I’m going to forgo the Cherry Garcia and speed straight to the first cheeseburger drive-thru I see and eat my weight in animal fat. My humiliation has just hit DEFCON 1, and I need to bolt before Sally here tosses me onto anotherlandmine.
I whip out my credit card and run it through the machine while Sally dutifully staples a pamphlet to the outside of the bag that cheerily readsMy Bacterial InfectionandMe.
“Lovely.” I snatch it from her as I toss my credit card into my purse in haste. I’m usually—ironically—analabout placing it right back in my wallet where it belongs, but at this point I couldn’t care less if I dropped it on the street and someone purchased a house with it. Right about now, I’d welcome just about anybody to hijack my identity—and my quite literal shitty bacterialinfection,too.
“Remember”—she lifts a finger as I plot my escape—“no back to front sex for you, missy—at least for a week. And since you like anal so much, I suggest you use a condom.” She makes a face. “Things tend to get a little messy down towardtheexit.”
I glare at her for an inordinate amount of time. Nobody in their right mind loves analsomuch.
“Listen here, SALLY”—that scary bitch that lives deep inside of me is good and ready to unleash all seven circles of hellish rage on the poor, dimly-witted, goldfish-eyed, anal-loving freak in front of me—“nobody in their right mind loves rear play that much—oranalas you so indelicately insist on calling it. You are a dumb twat, and you should have your girl card revoked for embarrassing me like this in front of God, and Super Preppy, and a handful of random damn nosy Kragger’sshoppers!”
The crowd around me gasps. Sally gives me a few solid blinks, and I gird myself for a much-deservedrebuttal.
Come on, Sally. Makemyday.
Her mouth falls open. “Oh, and if you get this prescription renewed here, you can get up to two dollars off your nextprescription!”
“Great.” My voice pitches in that unnatural way it’s prone to do when I get my balls caught in a vise. Oh, wait. I don’t have ballsora vise. That must mean I simply hate Sally. On second thought, I think I just found my hairynutsack.
“Coupon, huh?” I force a tight smile. “Well, too bad I don’t foresee racking up any frequent flyer miles with my vagina. See ya never!” I bolt from the counter as if my vagina just conducted a bankheist.
“Wait!” Preppy calls after me. “How about coffee? I hear it can take care ofthatrash!”
“Infection,” I’m quick to correct as if it were an upgrade. “And I’m sort of seeing someone.” I trot off to the mini Starbucks they’ve crammed into the heart of the bakery section while flaunting the aforementioned nutsack that suddenly morphed into the size of a refrigerator. As much as I’d like to hit my Honda and engage in the drive of shame, I’d much rather have a nice latte to restart my day on the propertrajectory.
Andseeingsomeone? I guess if you count these five inner-vaginal applicators, I’m seeingfivesomeones and two of them will likely make areprisal.
Crap. I put in an order for my usual and scroll through my phone while I wait for my drink to magically appear. There’s a message from Lisa.Will you make Sunday dinner this week? The girls miss you likecrazy!
I text right back.I’lltry!
If I’m not dead by then, I want to add, but don’t. Lisa doesn’t much care for humor of the cadaver variety. She’s my older sister by ten years. When our mother died, she took my younger sisters and me in. She’s the one who helped me get into Whitney Briggs University all those years ago. She’s also the one who helped me navigate the maze of financial aid apps. I had a few scholarships here and there, but I’m pretty much living to pay back my debt to WB society at this point. My younger sisters, Sadie and Everly, are in their junior and senior years of high school respectively and still live with her. Not to mention the fact Lisa has two little girls of her own, four and five, Karly and Kasey. And they’re all happily crammed in her tiny three-bedroom out in Friar’s Corner, a good two hours away with Lisa and her husband. I try to get out there at least twice amonth.
I text Raven a quick rundown of the vagina monologues that just went on between my new best friend Sally and me, and I can practically hear her laughing through those all capsLOLs!she’s sending every three seconds. It’s nice to know my busy bestie can always find time to chortle at my many vaginal misdeeds no matter how far I sink into the depths of theTwatlantic.
“Harlow!”
I look up, fully expecting to find the barista smiling over my venti mocha macchiato, but instead I see Sally, the giant cock-sleeve herself who’s managed to escape herstall.
“Don’t take that!” She waves her frantic hands at me as if I had a leg lifted on the counter and was seconds from inserting myself with those toxins she just offloaded on me. “The doctor’s office called and said there was a mix-up. That prescription was meant for someone else.” She wastes no time in snatching the tiny white bag from myclutches.
“What?” The weight of a thousand vaginas sloughs off my shoulders. “Knew it! Ha!” I balk at the elderly man pushing up behind me. “My vagina’s clean enough to eatoffof.”
His wife smacks him with her purse and waddles him away to safepasture.
