She pushed the paper pants to one side and asked me to pull the skin taut.
Then she painted a stripe of warm wax onto my pubis with a wooden spatula, and pressed a strip of fabric onto it.
Taking hold of the end, she ripped it off in one rapid flourish of clean, bright pain.
“Morituri te salutant,” I whispered, tears pricking my eyes.
This is what I say in such situations, and it always cheers me up to no end.
I started to sit up, but she gently pushed me back down.
“Oh, there’s a good bit more to go, I’m afraid,” she said, sounding quite cheerful.
Pain is easy; pain is something with which I am familiar.
I went into the little white room inside my head, the one that’s the color of clouds.
It smells of clean cotton and baby rabbits. The air inside the room is the palest sugar almond pink, and the loveliest music plays.
Today, it was “Top of the World” by the Carpenters. That beautiful voice... she sounds so blissful, so full of love.
Lovely, lucky Karen Carpenter. Kayla continued to dip and rip.
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