Page 179 of The Virgin Romance Novelist Chronicles
“Oh, yes, can’t wait to see what kind of weed patch you have growing now.”
Marta, that snarky bitch.
Huffing, I grabbed a robe, wrapped it around me, and then took off my bottoms and underpants. Marta tapped her foot impatiently.
While I hopped up on the table, I said, “I want to tell you that recently I’ve felt heavy down there, so if it looks different, please note I am getting it checked.”
“What you mean heavy down there?” Marta spread my legs so her unibrow could get a better look. Right when she opened my legs, she made a disgusted look and closed them quickly. “Is that your vagina?”
“Of course it is.” I tried to cover it with my robe, shoving it between my legs. “It’s attached to me, isn’t it?”
“What’s wrong with it?” Delaney asked, trying to sneak a peek.
“You need to see doctor immediately. I never seen anything like it.”
Delaney scrunched her nose at me. “Oh, my God, Rosie. What’s wrong with your vagina?”
“It look like half-eaten strudel. Three-year-old strudel.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I answered, horrified.
“Like someone puked up strudel on your crotch,” Marta continued.
Delaney covered her mouth. “I’m dry-heaving.”
“My vagina is not a regurgitated German pastry. I’m offended.”
“My eyes are offended,” Marta replied with quick wit. How could she be so sassy but barely speak English? “I can’t perform vajazzle on that.”
“Well, I didn’t want your stupid vajazzle anyway.” I started to get off the table with the robe still stuck between my legs, when Marta’s head fell back and a loud, very unladylike laugh busted through the entire room. She slapped her knee repeatedly and wiped her eyes of the tears threatening to pool at the base of her feet.
“What’s happening?” I asked Delaney, who was still holding her hand over her mouth.
“Oh, too much fun. Get back on the table; your vagina is fine. Not like strudel at all. We will need a little trim, though. Sit down so I can work.”
“Wait, so I don’t have puke crotch?”
“No, your crotch is fine. We vajazzle now.”
I was correct, she was the devil, no questions asked; her feet burned the fiery heat of the underground, and she took Satan’s dick into her love cave every night. It was the only explanation why this woman found such pleasure in torturing me.
I settled myself on the table and spread my legs for her. “You know, you should really pluck that unibrow; it’s very unflattering.”
There . . . jabbed her between the eyes, pun intended.
“The odor from your vagina is unflattering, but I not complain.”
Delaney burst out in laughter, and Marta’s shoulders shook with mirth.
Marta was a dumb bitch, and that was my opinion of her.
* * *
“Hey, love,” Henry said, when I walked through the apartment door. “Why do you have that look on your face?”
“What look?” I asked, setting the Indian food on the counter.
Henry joined me in the kitchen and observed me. “Like you’re hiding something. What was the appointment Delaney had?”
