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"  I was not just being facetious when I said I was off to book a bikini wax. A weekend away with a (quasi) boyfriend calls for hair removal, new lingerie from the sale rack at Bloomingdale&amp;#039;s, and according to Nina, a trip to a sex shop.  I was worried there wouldn&amp;#039;t be enough time for all of my sex errands between my weekly writing deadline, working a full time job, and running 12 miles, so yesterday afternoon I knocked on Bill&amp;#039;s door and told him, &amp;quot;I&amp;#039;m not feeling too hot,&amp;quot; while gingerly clutching my stomach. Yes, I lied and cut out of work early to get my hoo-ha waxed\u2014on a scale of one to 10, how much bad career karma do you think I&amp;#039;ve wrought?  Since Nina is a grad student, she had all of Wednesday afternoon free to play with me. She also needed to do something about her &amp;quot;wookie bush situation,&amp;quot; as she so eloquently put it, so she booked a wax as well. Ashley had a job interview, and we planned to meet up with her at Bloomingdale&amp;#039;s afterwards.  &amp;quot;Are you sure about this place?&amp;quot; Nina asked, with trepidation, as we sat in the bare bones waiting room with two year-old tabloids strewn about the coffee table.  I was thinking the same thing. I&amp;#039;d gotten a voucher off Groupon, which in hindsight\u2026maybe not the best idea to cut corners when you&amp;#039;re dealing with your delicates.  &amp;quot;The reviews said the place itself is kind of scary-looking but that they do an amazing job,&amp;quot; I said, trying to sound confident, not just for Nina, but for myself.  Before either of us had a chance to back out, our &amp;quot;hairless technicians&amp;quot; appeared and led us to our respective rooms.  &amp;quot;Clothes here,&amp;quot; the technician pointed to a folding chair in the corner. I wiggled out of my jeans, socks, and granny panties (laundry day) and hopped onto the table, relieved that there was a fresh sheet of paper beneath my butt.  &amp;quot;Everything?&amp;quot; The technician asked.  &amp;quot;Everything,&amp;quot; I replied.  &amp;quot;Ok,&amp;quot; she said, busying herself with the complicated hair removal tools on the table behind her. &amp;quot;Just so you know, we do things a little differently here. Our wax is specially formulated to form a mold. We remove it in one go. Any questions?&amp;quot;  One million. &amp;quot;Do I get to keep the wax mold of my vagina?&amp;quot;  The technician did not look amused as she bent over me and applied the wax.  Despite her brusque bedside manner, the wax was over and done with before I could yelp &amp;quot;Kelly Clarkson&amp;quot; like Steve Carell in The Forty-Year Old Virgin. I got dressed and returned to the waiting room. No sign of Nina, but I figured she&amp;#039;d be out any minute. I helped myself to a 2011 issue of Us Weekly. Five minutes passed. Then 10. Finally, Nina appeared, looking pale as a ghost.  &amp;quot;Oh, come on,&amp;quot; I said. &amp;quot;It wasn&amp;#039;t that bad.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Let&amp;#039;s go,&amp;quot; Nina barked.  &amp;quot;We have to pay!&amp;quot; I said.  Nina shook her head. &amp;quot;No, we don&amp;#039;t.&amp;quot;  I looked at the receptionist\u2014Nina&amp;#039;s &amp;quot;hairless technician&amp;quot; was whispering into her ear. &amp;quot;Nope, this one&amp;#039;s on us!&amp;quot; The receptionist chirped. &amp;quot;Come back soon!&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;What is going on?&amp;quot; I whispered to Nina as I followed her out and into the stairwell. Nina refused to answer me until we were standing on the street.  &amp;quot;It wouldn&amp;#039;t. Come. Off.&amp;quot; She hissed.  &amp;quot;What wouldn&amp;#039;t come off? The hair?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;The mold.&amp;quot; Nina used air quotes around the word, mold.  I covered my mouth with my hand, horrified. &amp;quot;How did she...is it still on you?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;No!&amp;quot; Nina said. &amp;quot;They had to chip it off with a hammer.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;They?&amp;quot; &amp;quot;Your girl, hair technician, whatever bullshit they called themselves, was called in for back up.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Ohmigod.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Jos, I thought I was going to have to go to the ER with a wax mold stuck to my vagina!&amp;quot;  I started laughing and couldn&amp;#039;t stop. I bent over and placed my hands on my knees.  Nina finally started to laugh too. &amp;quot;I hate you.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Did it at least\u2026work?&amp;quot; I gasp-laughed.  &amp;quot;No!&amp;quot; Nina was laughing so hard she was crying. &amp;quot;I look like George Costanza down there. Some bald patches, some strays. It&amp;#039;s a damn mess.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Stop. I&amp;#039;m going to pee my pants.&amp;quot;  Once we&amp;#039;d composed ourselves, we realized we were late to meet Ashley. By the time we found Ashley in the lingerie department of Bloomingdale&amp;#039;s, we were fifteen minutes late and she did not look happy.  &amp;quot;I&amp;#039;ve been texting you guys,&amp;quot; she snapped.  &amp;quot;Sorry,&amp;quot; I said. &amp;quot;You&amp;#039;re never going to believe what happened.&amp;quot;  Nina could barely contain herself as she started to fill Ashley in, but it quickly became apparent that Ashley was not amused.  &amp;quot;That&amp;#039;s great,&amp;quot; Ashley said, sarcastically. &amp;quot;Why don&amp;#039;t you guys just have your little adventures in the city and I&amp;#039;ll leave you to it.&amp;quot; Her coat was slung over her shoulder, but now she shrugged it on.  &amp;quot;Wait, Ash, what are you doing?&amp;quot; I asked.  &amp;quot;You didn&amp;#039;t even ask me how my interview went.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;We just got here!&amp;quot; Nina said. &amp;quot;I was just explaining why we were late, and then obviously we were going to ask you.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;It was shit,&amp;quot; Ashley&amp;#039;s eyes were watery. &amp;quot;I blew it.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;I&amp;#039;m sorry.&amp;quot; I reached out to rub her shoulder but she recoiled from me.  &amp;quot;It&amp;#039;s fine. I&amp;#039;m just so stressed out. I don&amp;#039;t know why I thought it would be a good idea to come here.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Do you want to just go grab food somewhere?&amp;quot; Nina asked.  &amp;quot;I can&amp;#039;t afford it,&amp;quot; Ashley said.  &amp;quot;Our treat!&amp;quot; I said.  &amp;quot;Please. No charity,&amp;quot; Ashley muttered. &amp;quot;I just want to go home and crawl into bed. I&amp;#039;ll see you guys later.&amp;quot; She looked at me. &amp;quot;&amp;quot;Have fun this weekend.&amp;quot;  I don&amp;#039;t think I realized until that moment how bad things really are with Ashley right now. I have no idea what to do or how to help her, or even if I should help her. Some people just prefer to work things out on their own\u2026I never thought Ashley was one of those people, but she&amp;#039;s also never been under this kind of duress before.  I feel a little selfish that I&amp;#039;m so excited for my weekend away with Justin when one of my best friends is having such a tough time with life right now. But I&amp;#039;m only human! And my hair-free, 65-percent-off-La Perla-lingerie-wearing self honestly just can&amp;#039;t wait. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
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