Pucked Page 39

It’s been a month since I visited my waxer. I’m currently living up to the furry nickname below the belt. I must return it to its mostly naked status in case Alex should want to pet it, or kiss it, or bury his wood in it.

I root around in my bathroom cabinet for my waxing kit. Typically, I only mess around with my legs, but this constitutes an emergency. The date is too last minute to schedule a waxing appointment.

I heat the wax in the microwave. Since I’m used to putting it on my legs rather than my cooter, I don’t account for how damn hot it is. I have to wait twenty minutes for it to cool, so I can work on ripping out the beaver pelt without burning myself.

Mimicking the actions of my waxer, I lie on the bathmat, apply the wax, and give a firm, quick tug. It hurts like a son of a bitch.

Usually my waxer leaves a wee triangle I trim every week, except it’s all wonky now, so I’m forced to rip that out, too. On the final strip, I mess up and redo the same spot, resulting in a mottled purple patch. It looks like I’ve been punched in the beave. Verdict: Beaverscaping is dangerous.

Coffee is my best friend in the morning. I slept like crap, too anxious and irritated by my excitement over the impending date. I enlist Charlene to come with me to Victoria’s Secret at lunch. I’m not planning to have sex with Alex again. I simply want to be prepared with a new bra and panties set should all my clothes blow off in a freak wind storm.

Charlene heads for the garter belts and corsets. I refuse to purchase anything requiring snappy doohickeys or laces. I need easy. Depending on how much there is on the gift card, I might splurge and buy a new pair of jammies, something more adult than Spiderman.

I waste twenty minutes of shopping time debating the merits of extra padding with Charlene. It’s false advertising. Alex is already familiar with my boobs, so why pretend they’ve grown since he saw them last? I settle on a red bra with minimal padding and matching frilly undies.

On my way to the cash register, I pick out a cute little sleep set. Charlene doesn’t approve. I argue that not everything I buy has to be sexy.

The cashier rings up my purchases. It’s more than a hundred bucks, which seems excessive for a few scraps of lace. I pass her the gift card, hoping it will cover most of it.

“You have $879.43 remaining on your card.” She holds it out and waits for me to take it.


She repeats herself and shows me the receipt with the balance.

Charlene grabs it. “Alex gave you a thousand dollar gift card to Victoria’s Secret?”

“Um, uh . . .”

“He’s got it bad for you.”

“Correction.” I snatch the receipt and the bag from the cashier, whose smile hasn’t wavered. She looks like she’s made of plastic. “He’s got it bad for my boobs. He asked them out on the date, not me.”

“You’re so strange, Violet.”

I shrug. She’s right.

The rest of the day passes in a distracted haze. At five I bolt from the office. I need to choose an outfit to complement my new purchases.

My mom’s car is in the driveway when I arrive home. I’m hoping to avoid her. I haven’t told her I’m going out with Alex yet, and I’m not interested in her advice. She’s been asking me about him lately in reference to the gifts and the flowers. It’s driving me crazy. The Victoria’s Secret bag fits under my coat, so I smuggle it inside and hightail it to the bathroom to get ready.

I hear my mom mid-dress adjustment. I check my phone; it’s five to seven. It’s taken way longer to get ready than I expected. Liquid eyeliner is not easy to apply.

I launch myself out of the bathroom, hoping to get rid of her prior to Alex’s arrival. If I hadn’t been such a hornball when he asked me out, I would have suggested I meet him at the restaurant rather than let him pick me up at home. I’m wearing heels, compromising my already questionable coordination. As I round the corner, I skid on the hardwood and lose my footing and land on my ass in the middle of the living room. It wouldn’t be so bad if Alex wasn’t standing in my kitchen to witness the humiliating display.

I jump up and brush off the fall as he rushes to help.

“Are you okay?” He runs his hands down my arms, checking for injuries.

Other than my ass and my ego, I’m fine.

“It’s a good thing Violet’s so bootylicious! The extra padding comes in handy!”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, willing my hands to stay at my sides and not wrap around her throat. It’s a wonder I don’t have more deep-seated psychological issues. “Thanks, Mom.” I grab my purse and Alex’s arm. “We should go.”

I’m confident I can make it across this particular surface without falling again. Holding onto Alex’s well-defined forearm definitely helps.

“Don’t you want to see what Alex brought you? He’s such a doll!” My mom makes flailing hand gestures between Alex and the flowers.

The bouquet is even more extravagant than the ones he sent previously. I’m torn. I don’t want him to think I don’t like or appreciate them. I also need to get the hell away from my mother. If given the opportunity for further mortification, she’ll pull out my Mathletes trophies from high school. I pick up the bouquet and give it a quick sniff.

“These are beautiful. Thank you.” Alex beams like a spotlight at the compliment.

“Can you put these in some water, please?” I ask my mom.

“Don’t you want to invite Alex in for a drink? Sidney’s making me a Manhattan. It’s cocktail hour!”

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