phone, and I canât just shout for them because theyâre all the way on the other side of the bar. Anyway, theyâd find it insanely hilarious for weeks and Angie and Pia would tell everyone, including telling their boyfriends, and I donât want Aidan and Sam knowing that I did this.
I am never waxing again. Ever. Angie was right. Why the hell would we put something as destructive as wax on our most sensitive skin and rip out the hair and call it beauty? Itâs so weird! Itâs, like, über-fucking-weird!
Focus, Coco, focus.
Wax. What will melt wax?
I once read a Martha Stewart tip that when you get candle wax on your clothes, you should iron them with a newspaper over the top. The iron heats the wax, the newspaper absorbs it, and boom, problem solved.
But I canât iron my goddamn vagina, Martha.
Wait! The hand dryer! The hot air will melt the wax, right?
The hand dryer is all the way over next to the door, so I quickly shuffle out of the cubicle, take my jeans off one leg, then realize I donât want my jeans to touch the disgusting bathroom floor, so I take my jeans off entirely, keeping my shoes on so my bare feet donât touch it either. Oh, God, I need to pee, I need to pee â¦
Then, with one hand pressed against the door to keep it shut, I throw one leg up the wall like a ballet dancer stretching, and try to angle my underwear toward the nozzle.
Yes. I am trying to mount the bathroom hand dryer.
But Iâm not flexible or tall, which means by the time the hot air reaches my ⦠you know ⦠itâs not that hot or that intense.
âThis is bullshit! This wouldnât melt an ice cube!â I cry out, and then quickly cover my mouth. Jesus. I need to shut up. What if someone comes in?
I now have to go so badly I could cry. Trying to distract myself with that little I-need-to-pee bobby-jiggle, I catch my reflection in the dirty mirror over the sink, and I look so ridiculous that I burst out laughing instead and nearly fall sideways, only righting myself at the last minute. Come on! Maybe the dryer will get hotter. I press it again, maintaining my ridiculous spread-eagle pose.
âHello?â Thereâs a male voice from outside. Shit! Before I can throw myself against it, the door pushes open.
Joe.
We meet eyes.
And then he looks down.
I canât move. Itâs like one of those dreams where youâre cemented to the spot, unable to scream or run. But this is real. I was mounting a hand dryer and cackling like a madwoman.
I think Iâm going to throw up.
Quickly putting both feet back on the ground, I hold my jeans over my body like a shield. OhpleaseGoddonotlethimseemythighs.
âWhat the hellââ Joe somehow gathers himself and quickly turns around, leaving the door open a crack for him to talk through. âIâm sorry, but what are you doing?â
âI ⦠I umâ¦â
Man up, Coco .
I mean, woman up .
âI administered a home bikini wax before I left my house this evening. And I need to go to the bathroom, but I seem to have leftover wax on my, um, and my underwear is now stuck to myâto myâto me.â There. That was as matter-of-fact as possible.
Thereâs a pause.
âI think I understand,â Joe says.
âI donât know what to do, and the bathroom is so dirty. This is so bad, Iâm, um, Iâm freaking out.â
âThis bathroom is dirty?â
âAre you kidding? Itâs disgusting.â
âWould you like some scissors?â
âUm ⦠I donât see how that will help because it is really stuck. Tight. To my ⦠all over ⦠under ⦠bits.â
I close my eyes. Whywhywhy is this happening to me?
âLook, I donât want to get into a whole anatomy discussion with you, but I think perhaps you can use the scissors to alter your, uh, undergarments to relieve yourself of, hmm, your immediate urinary needs?
I am never waxing again. Ever. Angie was right. Why the hell would we put something as destructive as wax on our most sensitive skin and rip out the hair and call it beauty? Itâs so weird! Itâs, like, über-fucking-weird!
Focus, Coco, focus.
Wax. What will melt wax?
I once read a Martha Stewart tip that when you get candle wax on your clothes, you should iron them with a newspaper over the top. The iron heats the wax, the newspaper absorbs it, and boom, problem solved.
But I canât iron my goddamn vagina, Martha.
Wait! The hand dryer! The hot air will melt the wax, right?
The hand dryer is all the way over next to the door, so I quickly shuffle out of the cubicle, take my jeans off one leg, then realize I donât want my jeans to touch the disgusting bathroom floor, so I take my jeans off entirely, keeping my shoes on so my bare feet donât touch it either. Oh, God, I need to pee, I need to pee â¦
Then, with one hand pressed against the door to keep it shut, I throw one leg up the wall like a ballet dancer stretching, and try to angle my underwear toward the nozzle.
Yes. I am trying to mount the bathroom hand dryer.
But Iâm not flexible or tall, which means by the time the hot air reaches my ⦠you know ⦠itâs not that hot or that intense.
âThis is bullshit! This wouldnât melt an ice cube!â I cry out, and then quickly cover my mouth. Jesus. I need to shut up. What if someone comes in?
I now have to go so badly I could cry. Trying to distract myself with that little I-need-to-pee bobby-jiggle, I catch my reflection in the dirty mirror over the sink, and I look so ridiculous that I burst out laughing instead and nearly fall sideways, only righting myself at the last minute. Come on! Maybe the dryer will get hotter. I press it again, maintaining my ridiculous spread-eagle pose.
âHello?â Thereâs a male voice from outside. Shit! Before I can throw myself against it, the door pushes open.
Joe.
We meet eyes.
And then he looks down.
I canât move. Itâs like one of those dreams where youâre cemented to the spot, unable to scream or run. But this is real. I was mounting a hand dryer and cackling like a madwoman.
I think Iâm going to throw up.
Quickly putting both feet back on the ground, I hold my jeans over my body like a shield. OhpleaseGoddonotlethimseemythighs.
âWhat the hellââ Joe somehow gathers himself and quickly turns around, leaving the door open a crack for him to talk through. âIâm sorry, but what are you doing?â
âI ⦠I umâ¦â
Man up, Coco .
I mean, woman up .
âI administered a home bikini wax before I left my house this evening. And I need to go to the bathroom, but I seem to have leftover wax on my, um, and my underwear is now stuck to myâto myâto me.â There. That was as matter-of-fact as possible.
Thereâs a pause.
âI think I understand,â Joe says.
âI donât know what to do, and the bathroom is so dirty. This is so bad, Iâm, um, Iâm freaking out.â
âThis bathroom is dirty?â
âAre you kidding? Itâs disgusting.â
âWould you like some scissors?â
âUm ⦠I donât see how that will help because it is really stuck. Tight. To my ⦠all over ⦠under ⦠bits.â
I close my eyes. Whywhywhy is this happening to me?
âLook, I donât want to get into a whole anatomy discussion with you, but I think perhaps you can use the scissors to alter your, uh, undergarments to relieve yourself of, hmm, your immediate urinary needs?
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