I couldn’t help laughing.
One leg was in the air with my foot pressing against the wall, and the other
leg was splayed out across the table. The woman’s face was only about 2 feet
away from my birth canal. How has it come to this? The hot wax, the popsicle
stick, the cloth, the press, the RIP. Who came up with this idea anyway? I have
underwear on. But still. There are places where they make you take it off,
where they ask you to put your legs over your head and spread your butt cheeks.
What? Yes it’s true; get over it (or block it out, like I do). I’m laughing now
because I’m imagining different scenarios where people walk into the room.
Downton Abbey
Tom: Lady Lewis! What in
the name of the heavenly father—
Me: Tom no! It’s not what
you think
The Wire
Group of Teenage Boys:
Aww Shit--
Me: Getthefuckout!
Louis CK
Louis: Uum, oh sorry… ah…hold
on…okay just
Me: Close the door, Louis…Close
the door…Go on Louis!! Just close it.
And what about the woman
who performs the torture? I don’t know her name; she doesn’t know mine. It is
better this way. No eye contact. No talking. Does she see it like a canvas? Or
like a hedge? Or does she just see a vagina. I suppose there are worse things
to look at.
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