The Itch

As much as it pains me to admit this, I was on abstinence mode on a lot more than sex for the past half a year, some of which you may not want to know about but I'm gonna tell you anyway because I can.

I guess when it came to my vow I figured that if I didn't take care of the lady parts the way a girl should then that'd be a good deterrent for not having sex if ever tempted beyond the point of no return on some date or when kissed by random strangers at parks. It all started innocently enough I assure you, with one waxing appointment missed a month into my celibacy vow and then a second and then before I knew it I was giving Playboy models from the 70's a run for their money with my lovely bush.

But then six months quickly came and went and a day before "the end" I remembered being long overdue for a wax but was mortified beyond words for my usual lady to see me in such a state so I shaved it all off, recalling why a girl should never resort to shaving that area immediately after. An incontrollable itch seemed to follow me everywhere, and although mommy dearest swore by baby powder and cotton panties I couldn't get rid of it for the life of me.

Mother: You're just going to have to live through it. You'll be fine in two weeks. And why didn't you go to your usual wax lady?

Me: Um. I'm, just lazy that's all.

Mother: (gives me her raised eye look that says I-know-you're-lying-to-me but then changes the subject to the latest Gain detergent).

Two weeks ago I was at Walmart trying to buy some dog food and wine when suddenly, the itch struck. Now if you've ever had this particular problem then you know how hard it is to keep from scratching. It's as if the more you try to cast it out of your mind, the harder the need to reach down there becomes until you're rabidly clawing at your skin in front of a thousand strangers.

As I searched for an open cashier, the itch was in full force and begging me to slip a helping hand inside my pants and go to town. I wanted to go to the bathroom and leave my cart outside but that meant risking someone taking it and there- was-no-way-I-was-going-back-for-another-fifty-pound-bag-of-dog-food.

And so I did what any respectable young lady would do: got my ass in line and waited, praying the heavens would part and for once it would move quickly along.

The lady before me was one of these loud Cubans who you could tell was in the process of learning English and wanted to practice with whomever was game for it. She started talking to the cashier about how the weather was so "hat" but thankfully the attendant seemed to be in no mood for chit chat.

 

When it was time to pay, this lady pulled out the largest wad of cash I've ever seen, counting slowly and enunciating all the numbers like a pre-schooler practicing their 1, 2, 3's.

 

I can only assume her daughter was a stripper and pay day had come recently, because having so many singles readily available was just beyond my comprehension. Or maybe she worked at a laundromat. I guess some things we'll never know.

 

Finally Blondie paid and I zipped through that line like I was practicing for a triathlon and my prize was a naked Channing Tatum covered in vodka caramel sauce. I jogged to my Camry with cart in tow and threw my groceries in the trunk, placing the cart by the grass and quickly shutting my door.

I sat on the driver's seat and in a rage undid my pants, making sure there was no one around to take pictures of me (I'm trying to become famous after all and the last thing I need are pictures of me with my hands down my pants, guys).

When I confirmed the coast was indeed clear, I began clawing away furiously at the top of my nether regions, ecstatic to be able to somehow alleviate the agony I'd been feeling up until that minute.

I don't know how much time passed as I moaned in ecstacy and finally felt soothed, but when I looked up there was a young boy staring at me as he pulled a cart away. The same cart I had been too lazy to properly store in the cart lane just a few minutes before.

I studied him as he looked away, uncertain if he'd caught me red-handed as I gathered what remained of my dignity and pulled out of the parking lot, finally convincing myself that he hadn't.

But he had.