Troubles and Treats

“Mrs. Dellena, what’s a dirty whore?” one of the kids asks his teacher.

“Sorry, please excuse us,” Liz says with a kind smile to the teacher as she grabs my arm and drags me down the hall where there are no classrooms or children to horrify, forcing my finger to magically get unstuck from my hair.

“Yay, you did it!” I tell her, holding my finger up in front of her face.

She bats my finger out of the way and looks at me in shock. “What the f**k just came out of your mouth?”

“I thought I’d never be able to use this finger again,” I tell her in awe.

“Shut the hell up about your finger! What the hell is really going on with you and Drew?” she demands.

“I know. It’s a lot.”

“You’re damn right it’s a f**king lot. Why the hell haven’t you mentioned all of this before? I thought you guys were just going through a typical dry spell that everyone goes through when they have multiple kids. This is way beyond that. I want to kick Drew’s ass way more than usual right now,” she says angrily.

“It’s not all his fault,” I say with a sigh.

“The f**k it isn’t! You’re his wife. His soul mate. He should be taking care of you and making sure all of your needs are met, not leaving it up to the eye candy living across the street. And Jenny, that kid is total jailbait. You need to stop any and all thoughts you might be harboring about him.”

“Hey, don’t judge him just because he’s done time. He is a very nice person. And how the hell do you even know he was in jail?” I ask angrily.

“Jenny, he’s like nineteen! He’s thirteen years younger than you, and he lives with his mommy and daddy. Do you really think you can just divorce Drew and this kid is going to take on a thirty-two-year-old with two kids? How the hell is he going to support you with his paper route money?”

“Wait, what? What the hell are you talking about? I don’t want to divorce Drew! Sure, Jackson is nice to look at and he’s a big help, but I don’t want to marry the guy! I love Drew. I just don’t know how to fix this,” I tell her as the tears I’ve been trying to keep inside begin falling.

“Oh thank f**king God,” Liz says in relief. “This, we can fix. We just need to kick Drew’s ass and get his God dammed head in the game. Why the hell haven’t you just told him all of this?”

“I don’t know! I thought he would just get it like he always has in the past. He’s always known what I wanted and needed and after a while, I just started getting pissed that he didn’t. Now that it’s gone on this long, I don’t know what the hell to do!” I wail.

“Lucky for you, I’m here. We’re going to fix this shit,” Liz tells me.

She puts her arm around my shoulder in a very uncharacteristic show of affection for her and we walk back to the classroom to pick up the girls while she plans a strategy.

~

“When you said you were going to fix things, this really isn’t what I had in mind,” I complain an hour later.

We drop Veronica off with Drew’s dad who was already watching Billy for the day, and Liz tells him in no uncertain terms that he needs to watch Molly as well. He calls her ma’am and scoops up both girls in the driveway and runs back into the house before we can even tell him how long we will be gone.

We are currently sitting in the waiting room of the local salon waiting for my turn to get a Brazilian wax.

“Before we can fix your shit, we need to fix your shit,” Liz says with a wave of her hand in the general direction of my vagina. “No man should have to get his penis caught in a jungle of pubic hair.”

I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest.

“It’s not that bad,” I complain.

“The last time you even took a razor to that area was seven months ago. It is THAT bad. The day you wanted me to look at your vagina I could see those things trying to jump ship out of the sides of your underwear. Your twat looked like one of those freaky clowns that’s bald down the middle of its white head with ginormous tufts of hair sprouting out by it’s ears.”

Before I can bitch at her about comparing my vagina to a clown’s head, the receptionist calls my name and we both stand up.

“Are you really going back there with me?” I ask.

“Hell yes I am. Your wish is finally coming true. I will see your vagina. Plus, I really want to see the look on that woman’s face when she gets a peek at your plethora of pubes. Your copious curls, your abundant bush, the wild mane that if it sees a spark will start a forest fire,” she states.

“Are you finished?” I ask irritably.

“I think so. But give me five minutes and I might be able to get one more in.”

“You are kind of dicky,” I tell her as we follow the receptionist into one of the private waxing rooms.

“Yes, and in just a few minutes, a dick will be able to find your vagina without needing night vision goggles and a weed whacker.”

“Okay, Jenny, if you want to just strip down and wrap the towel that’s on the table around your waist, the esthetician will be in shortly,” the receptionist says with a cheerful smile before leaving the room and closing the door behind her.

“An anesthetician? Geeze, I had no idea they went to such extremes and the same guy who gives you an epidural during child birth does waxing now. Just how bad is this going to hurt?” I ask as I strip off my jeans and underwear. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">