Page 77 of Man Flu

“This is the worst part, so just think about whatever name you’ve come up with. Ready?”

There? She’s putting wax there? Why the hell would she be putting wax— “Mothertrucking, Batman, nooooo!”

“I’m sorry, dear, but we’re all done now.”

“No, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scream at you.” I am humiliated. I can’t believe I just screamed that out loud, and I’m sure Brielle heard.

“Oh, trust me, I’ve heard far worse.”

“Let me just clean you up really quick. You might be a little puffy for a few hours, but you should be ready to get on that saddle by night time.” I hate myself. I hate everything about this hour of my life. Why did I think this was a good idea? I feel like my vagina is on fire, and her little dabs from a wet wipe are doing nothing to soothe the burning sensation, nor did she hit every forsaken area. Whatever, I need to get the hell out of here, now.

“You know, we do have a laser option available. It may be something you want to consider in the future.” I would probably laugh if I wasn’t trying so hard not to cry, but I don’t think I could ever lie on a bed like this again and ask for a repeat of what just happened I feel somehow violated, like the last of my remaining innocence was just stolen by Mary.

“Thank you, I’ll take that into consideration.”

“Take your time getting dressed, and I’ll meet you out front.”

I sit up, and it burns. Shit, does it burn! I swing my legs off the side of the table, and it burns. I stand up, and it burns. I’m burning inside and out, my asshole too. I’m on fire. I need to sit on ice. I need to kill Brielle. If slapping doesn’t get me fired, killing her sure as hell will. Why would someone intentionally get this done more than once? Every bottle of body wax I’ve ever purchased explicitly says it should be used on the outside of the body only. Wax should not be anywhere near the inside of my body, yet there it was, all the way up there, and back there, and up and back there. I have been mutilated. When that hair grows back, I’m going to feel like I’m being stabbed by a thousand tiny needles all at one time, and God knows how many days in a row that will last.

It hurts to lift my legs. Everything hurts so badly. I now have a name for my vibrator, but I don’t think I can get near myself with Batman, never mind Logan’s Batman. I’m going to need to tell him I have a sunken ship inside of chapped lips.