Page 76 of Man Flu

“No, it’s not. It’s completely normal to name your vibe. One of my friends I went to college with had one named Shermanator. Honestly, that’s the best vibe name in the entire world.”

“Shermanator? Like, from American Pie?” I laugh because that’s creative. I’ll give her that. I can’t remember the quote exactly, but I remember Sherman calling himself some kind of sex god.

“Yes, like American Pie. So, you have one, right?”

I open the door. “Yes, Brielle, I have one, plus some others. I’m single and lonely as hell. Give me a break, will you?”

She steps out of the car too and meets me out front on the curb. “Okay, well you’ll feel a lot closer to whichever is your favorite if you give it a name. What color is the one you use the most?”

I open the door to the spa and walk in, trying to brush her off my shoulder. “Good afternoon,” an older woman at the front desk greets me. “How can I help you today?”

“She needs a Hollywood glow, stat,” Brielle speaks for me. The thought of going completely bare makes me cringe, but maybe that’s what Logan likes. He’s probably been with a lot of women. Well, before the incident. Hopefully, he didn’t catch a peek at my current situation. I think I stopped that in time.

“Follow me,” the woman says.

I unbutton my coat, slip it off, and hand it to Brielle. “Thanks.”

“Enjoy!” Screw you.

“Please take off everything from the waist down. Here is a sheet you can cover yourself with.”

“Thank you, I’ll just be a minute,” I tell her. I don’t think I’ve ever been to a spa where a seventy-year-old woman is a waxer. She must think I’m a whore, unless this is the treatment women commonly request.

“Oh, do you want your friend to come in and hold your hand?” the woman asks as if it’s a normal thing to do.

“Oh, no, no, no, thank you. I’m more of a modest type of gal.”

The woman’s eyebrows rise about a half inch. “Modest, huh? Well, you won’t want to be very modest when I’m through with you.” She winks. She just winked at me. Oh God, she winked, and she’s about to strip me clean. What the hell! “My name is Mary, in case you need anything.” She offers me a cute, wrinkly smile before leaving me alone in this quaint, relaxing room with soothing music before I’m massacred. The irony.

I take off my pants and panties and pile them up on the stool in the corner of the room. Oh, this is just lovely. It’s like I’m at the OB, but this is going to be way worse, I suspect.

I climb up on the table and wrap the thin sheet around my bottom half. “I’m ready, Mary,” I shout.

I hear Brielle laughing hysterically in the hall, and it stresses me out. I just want to get this over with, and she’s out there chatting this woman up. This is why I wanted to come alone.

Mary re-enters the room and takes a pair of knitting-circle-like eyeglasses off the prepping counter and slides them on. “My eyes aren’t what they used to be, and I need to see what I’m doing. Don’t want to wax the wrong part off!” she says with a hoarse laugh.

She finds that funny? “Wait.” I push up on my elbows. “Is that possible? Can fragile parts be torn off?” Like Logan’s ball. I guess it wasn’t torn off, but things are delicate down there. “Is there any danger to this?”

“Oh, no, dear. That’s just a little esthetician humor.” Fabulous. How nice to be in the company of an old, funny pube-snatcher.

I lay back down and hear her gloves snap into place. “I’ll be quick, honey. Don’t worry.”

“Thank you.” But I am worried.

The hot wax is spread in a thick coat down one side of my lady bits, and I close my eyes in preparation for the next steps. The cloth adheres with the assistance of the lady’s palm, which is so weird. There’s an old lady’s hand on my crotch. I’m going to be traumatized when I leave here. “Your friend told me to remind you about figuring out a name for your vibrator. I think it will be a great distraction,” she says.

I’m going to kill Brielle.

The first rip comes, and I feel the need to scream a line of obscenities at old lady Mary, but I bite my lip instead.

The next layer is applied, and I do what she suggested and begin the consideration of vibrator names. The cloth is on, and I’m trying to think. Think, Hannah. Think. Muffin-beater? Ow, mothertrucking ow. Ow. Camel-pole? No, that’s weird. Ummm, oh, Mr. Wiggles! No, no no, no. Oh, there’s wax all the way in there. “Oh my, I might need two rounds on this section, so I’m sorry in advance,” Mary says, interrupting my train of thought.

Am I abnormal or something? Why act surprised? It’s a vagina, lady. Come on. It’s perfectly normal. That’s what you’re supposed to tell me. Maybe I should name the vibrator Norm? Norm is good. No, Norm isn’t good. Why am I even thinking about this? Why am I doing this? Holy mother of—no, that feels like it was a part of my body that should still be there.

I’m doing this because of Logan, the Beefcake Batman. All this pain for a man. Well, if that’s the case, I might as well name my vibrator after him. Batman, it is. I’ve made a decision.

Shittttttt.