Troubles and Treats (17 page)

Fucky McFuckson says his good-byes and jogs back over to his house, whistling the
whole way.

Who the fuck whistles while he walks?  The Seven Dwarfs, that’s who.  Fuckson is a
dwarf.  He’s Fuck Head Dwarf; the sneaky bastard dwarf that tries to steal wives and
children and makes them suddenly want vanilla instead of Mint Chocolate Chip.

“I’ll call Claire and let her know you’ll be over in a little bit to get the kids,”
Jenny says as she turns and makes her way up the driveway to the house.

I stand there in the driveway long after she’s gone inside, staring over at Fuck Face’s
house.

“As God is my witness, I shall never like vanilla again.”

I have a headache of mass promotions.  Sticking around Veronica’s preschool the whole
two hours she’s here probably isn’t the best idea.  There’s a parent viewing area
with
a two-way mirror
so we can see the kids but they can’t see us.  Unfortunately, we can still hear all
twenty-three kids screaming.

“You look like shit,” Liz says as she sits down next to me and hands me a cup of coffee.

Her three-year-old Molly goes to the same preschool as Veronica and usually we alternate
who picks up and who takes the kids.  Today is Liz’s day but I need a break from work
and had decided to spend my free time watching Veronica learn and play.

“I
feel
like shit.  I have the worst headache and Jackson had to cancel our play date yesterday
so I didn’t get a nap,” I tell her.

Liz knows all about Jackson ever since she stopped by last week to drop off some hand-me-down
clothes from her girls for Veronica.  She had walked through the front door to find
me asleep on the couch, Jackson giving Billy a bottle, and Veronica sitting next to
him watching cartoons.

“I still can’t believe you have a manny,” she says with a laugh as I take a sip of
my coffee.

“His name’s not Manny. It’s Jackson.  Remember, I introduced you?”

She laughs and shakes her head.  “A manny is a male version of a nanny.  And as far
as I know, they are young and hot and usually gay.  But your manny definitely isn’t
giving off the gay vibe,” she explains.

“He’s not a nanny or a manny or whatever.  He’s just a friend helping me out.”

“A hot as fuck friend that I would bang seven weeks to Sunday if I wasn’t married. 
Oh, who am I kidding?  If Jim was a complete loser of a husband and never helped me
out around the house or with the kids, I’d still bang him,” she laughs.

I look at her in shock while she laughs and doesn’t even realize that she just summed
up my life lately with that one statement.

“It’s a good thing you and Drew are back to fucking like twisted, demented rabbits,
right?” she asks with a smile.

Her smile drops as soon as she sees the look on my face.

“Oh no, what the fuck?  You guys just had date night four days ago.  That was supposed
to cure everything.  I assumed you looked like death warmed over from having sex in
a bounce house or some shit like that.  What the hell happened?”

I can feel the tears stinging my eyes and my lip start to quiver, and I know I’m going
to break down any second.

“Shit.  Don’t cry.  Not here.  Come on, we’re going for a walk.”

Liz grabs my arm and pulls me up from my chair and drags me out into the school hallway. 

We walk down past a few other classrooms and she stops and turns to face me.  “Talk.”

I take a deep breath and let it all out in one enormous explosion of truth.  Everything
I’ve been feeling and have worried about and stressed over for the last few months. 
It all comes pouring out of me.

“I’m so tired, Liz.  I’m physically tired and brainy tired and Drew is just no help
at all, and I don’t understand how he can NOT see that I need help or ever even ask
me if he can get up with Billy in the middle of the night or change a diaper or fix
Veronica lunch or get her ready for school or help me with the other fucking million
and one things I’ve got going on,” I complain, as I start pacing in front of Liz. 
I grab onto a lock of my hair and start twirling it around my finger, something I
do when I’m nervous or freaked out.  And I’m freaked out right now!  I’m also not
paying attention to just how fast I’m twirling and before I know it, my finger is
stuck in a knot of hair right next to my head.

“My finger’s stuck.  MY FINGER’S STUCK!” I yell in a panic.

Liz rushes up to me and puts her hand over my mouth so I stop yelling and tries yanking
on my arm with her other hand.

“Mmmmmmmmmffffff!” I mumble-scream into her hand.

Liz huffs and shakes her head at me.  “I am going to remove my hand from your mouth. 
Don’t you dare scream.”

I nod my head at her so she knows I’ll be good, and she slowly removes her hand from
my mouth.  Once she’s satisfied I’m not going to freak out every classroom in the
hallway, she gets to work trying to free my finger from my hair, and I go right back
into my complaining.

“All he wants me for is sex and then when I do try and give it to him, he wants to
do it the same way we always have, and I think there’s something wrong with me because
I just don’t want to do it the same way we always have, and I don’t know if I want
to be a dirty whore anymore even though he still wants a whore, and I just didn’t
feel right calling him a slut on Saturday but maybe I will next time, but now I don’t
even know if there ever WILL be a next time, and Jackson is just so nice and pretty
and helpful and he knew immediately that I just wanted sleep and some help, and I
don’t know what to do!  What the fuck should I do if I don’t want to be a dirty whore
anymore, Liz?!”

The sound of someone coughing stops my rant and Liz and I both turn to see one of
the teachers from the kindergarten class standing behind us with a line of kids, everyone
staring at us with eyes wide and mouths open.  Twenty five-year-olds are looking at
me like I’m crazy and who knows, I probably am.  I think I’m cranking up.  I’m going
to have to leave my kids and go live in a nut house with my
finger still stuck in my hair and
I don’t even LIKE nuts.

“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 fuck 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 fucking 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 fuck 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 fucking 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.

“Holy fuck, Jenny!  How does that shit even fit in your underwear?!” Liz yells as
she laughs and points.  “And the guy who gives you an epidural is an
Anesthesiologist. 
I’m going to need a fucking anesthesiologist to numb my eyes after seeing this!”

I quickly turn away from her and wrap the towel around my waist so she can stop making
fun of me.  I reach for the hem of my shirt and begin pulling it up my stomach when
Liz stops me.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Uh, I’m
stripping down
like the girl told me to do,” I tell her with my hands still on the edge of my shirt
and my stomach exposed.

“Do you have hairy tits or something?  Why the hell would you need to take your shirt
off?”

I huff at her in annoyance that she just expects me to know what hell I’m doing in
this situation.

Pulling my shirt back down, I hop up on the table that’s covered in doctor’s office
paper, careful to keep the towel firmly in place so Liz doesn’t come up with any more
insults.

“Okay, so really, how long does this take?  Is she just going to like, slop some wax
right on the upper part and then rip it off?” I ask Liz.

“Uh, no.  This is a Brazilian.  She is going to get all up in your shit from your
FUPA to your asshole,” Liz informs me with a completely serious look on her face.

“What the hell is a 'FUPA' and what do you mean, ‘all up in my shit?'” I ask her nervously.

“FUPA equals fat, upper pussy area.  And all in your shit, like, you know, spread
you open and get all in there, then flip you over on all fours and clean up your ass.”

Why is she so matter-of-fact about this crap?!  And I do NOT have a fat, upper pussy
area!

“They’re going to spread open my folds and wax in there?!”

Liz lets out a sound of disgust and grimaces.  “Please, God, never say the word
folds
again.”