William Has Never Read A Short Story About Brazilian Wax
And god forbid anyone ever forces him to do so. All he knows is that in Brazil, they calculate the rate of inflation based on the current price of the Brazilian wax. Weird that this shit is even capitalized. There’s not much more he needs to know, but she won’t shut up about it. One can only guess how thrilled he was to hear from his pal Jimmy that she made a great fuss about it a few days later to about thirty other victims.
“See, so I’ve seen The Vagina Monologues, but I didn’t really get it,” Chrissie announces to her 3rd period health class when the topic of “becoming a woman arises.”
“It was somethin’ to do with angry chicks who don’t like to shave, but like that’s about it. I went to it with my ex-boyfriend and his mom. Like what even. The worst part: He suggested it. Just like that time I tried to watch that super freaky ghost hunters movie with him on Halloween! He got so freaked out that we had to put on Brokeback Mountain. Which he brought! And don’t say he’s gay ‘cause I know he’s not. He said it was hot when I got a Brazilian wax. No homo would say somethin’ like that.”
“And what does this have to do with “becoming a woman,” Chrissie?”
“Huh, good question, Ms. B.”
Ms. B is an award-winning writer of Romantic Fiction. In North America, romance novels are the top selling genre of book. She read that on the back of the door of a bathroom stall in Boston when she had a urinary tract infection and had to take a piss every 10 seconds. She forgot to drink her usual gallon of cranberry juice that morning. When she pees, she never looks down. When she fucks, she never looks up. Both would just all be too much for her. Sometimes she recites lines from her own books, narrating the whole backwards, yet necessary phenomena that is her sex life. ‘He moves his hand down the center of my pants but just when things start to get hairy—NOT SEXY—he whispers, “Oh, honey… Aren’t you missing something? Or rather have too much of one thing?” This one has yet to be published for obvious reasons.
The whisperer is based on a forty-five year old window glass cleaner and he likes things spic and span on both the inside and outside of his affairs. Some people are forced into this line of work, but he chose it day one of the career fair. It was the obvious choice. Let’s put it this way: how many people can say that their line of work requires them to fly into the sky on a day-to-day basis? Be above it all. Not only that, he is responsible for making the city shine bright over everyone. So bright that the beams of light wriggle their way into the iris’ of streetwalker big and small forcing them to look away. He has the power to move people with the help of his waxy tools. He likes his women like he likes his windows: filth free.
Joke’s on Chrissie! William said “Hot” the day before they broke up because he burned himself lighting the cigarette meant to filter out the Brazilian bullshit she incessantly hurled at him begging for some sort of reaction. And let the record show, he put on Brokeback Mountain not because he’s gay, not because he’s straight, not even because he’s afraid of ghosts! But because he likes the goddamn cinematography more than some campy gotta catch em’ all ghost crap. Why is that so hard to believe? It’s refreshing. He enjoys the feeling of being cooled off by Jake Gyllenhal’s icy smirk against the grassy fucking fields of Canada’s—not Wyoming’s—wide-open plains! He is all about the natural and she gives him nothing to work with.