“Oh...” she said. “Okaaaay...” She went over to the table and opened a drawer, took something out.
“It’s going to be an extra two pounds for the clipper guard,” she said sternly, pulling on a pair of disposable gloves.
The clippers buzzbuzzbuzzed and I stared at the ceiling. This didn’t hurt at all!
When she’d finished, she used a big, fat brush to sweep the shaved hair onto the floor.
I felt panic start to rise within me. I hadn’t looked at the floor when I came in.
What if she’d done this with the other clients—were their pubic hairs now adhering to the soles of my polka-dot socks?
I started to feel slightly sick at the thought. “That’s better,” she said. “Now, I’ll be as quick as I can.
Don’t use perfumed lotions in the area for at least twelve hours after this, OK?”
She stirred the pot of wax that was heating on the side table.
“Oh, don’t worry, I’m not much of a one for unguents, Kayla,” I said.
She goggled at me. I’d have thought that staff in the beauty business would have better-developed people skills.
She was almost as bad as my colleagues back at the office.
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