Page 75 of Passing Ships
“Okay, calm down and just tell me what you did, and we’ll figure it out.”
She turns and walks inside, and I follow her. We take seats on opposite sides of the sofa, and I sit silently and wait for her to start talking.
“I shaved my hoo-ha,” she blurts out before dropping her face into her hands.
What did she just say?
“I’m sorry. Come again?”
“My hoo-ha,” she stresses as she points to her lap. “I fucked it up.”
I can’t help myself. I burst into laughter.
Her hand immediately drops, and her angry eyes come to me.
“This isn’t a laughing matter,” she screams.
I bite my bottom lip and try to squash my giggles.
“Amiya!”
“Why did you, um … why?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I was skimming one of the bridal magazines Mom had left, and there was this article talking about going bare down there and how men think it’s sexy and how your skin is more sensitive during sex. I thought, What the hell? I bought a new bikini for my honeymoon, and it would be a sexy little surprise for Sebastian, so I just did it. And I’ve been filled with nothing but regret ever since,” she cries.
“So, you just decided on the fly?” I ask.
“Yeah. I was shaving my legs in the shower and thought, Why not?” she says as she throws her hands in the air.
“Well, you can’t just go whacking down there, all willy-nilly,” I say.
“You do,” she points out.
“Yeah, but I’ve been rocking the Mohawk down there since high school, so my muff has adapted. Plus, I go to a spa and get waxed by professionals. You have to baby your promised land, not mow it down like a yard full of weeds,” I explain.
“What do I do? I can’t let Sebastian see it. I couldn’t even sleep last night because of the razor burn and itch. This is a disaster. My groom isn’t going to be able to touch me on our wedding night.”
I roll my eyes. “Stop being dramatic. It won’t be that bad.”
“Trust me, it is that bad,” she bellows.
“I mean, it won’t be by your wedding night. As long as you keep your hands off of it, it should clear up in a few days.”
“You think so?” she asks hopefully.
I shrug. Not sure at all if that’s the case.
“Yeah, a week, tops,” I guess.
She eyes me suspiciously. “But what do I do? It’s a mess. All stubbly and not at all smooth, like I envisioned.”
“I’d leave it alone. No more whacking. Just let it grow back in. Do you have any witch hazel?”
She raises an eyebrow. “I think there’s a bottle in the medicine cabinet. Why?”
“Go grab it and a spray bottle. You have an aloe plant on the porch, right?”
She nods.