Melanie Gideon - Wife 22

Spoken by somebody to whom love comes easily.

What makes you say that, Researcher 101?

I can read between the lines.

The lines of my answers?

Yes.

Well, I’m not sure love comes easily, but I will say it is my default setting.

I’ve got to go. I’ll be emailing the next survey in a few days.

Wait-before you leave I wanted to ask you. Is everything okay? This is the first time you’ve been on Facebook in days.

Nothing’s wrong, just busy.

I was worried you might be angry.

This is what I hate about communicating online. There’s no way to judge tone.

So you’re not angry.

Why would I be angry?

I thought I might have offended you in some way.

By doing what?

Not answering your revised #48.

You’re allowed to take a pass on any question.

So I haven’t offended you?

You’ve done nothing to offend me-quite the opposite, actually-that’s the problem.

Shonda Perkins

PX90 30 days in!!

12 minutes ago

William Buckle

Dog. Yours for free. Must like being bitten.

One day ago

William Buckle

Recent Activity

William Buckle and Helen Davies are now friends

Two days ago

“Mail,” announces Peter, dropping an AARP magazine on my desk. He peers over my shoulder. “What’s with all the Dad postings? And who’s Helen Davies?”

“Somebody we used to work with.”

“Did she friend you, too?”

No, Helen Davies, Helen of Troy, did not friend me, too. She only friended my husband. Or he friended her. Does it matter who friended whom? Yes, it probably does.

I glare at the silver-haired couple on the cover of the AARP magazine. Damn it! I do not want to take advantage of a special offer for cataract drops, nor do I care to consider my line of sight above the steering wheel because I am NOT fifty and I won’t be fifty for another six years. Why do they keep sending me copies of their magazine? I thought I had taken care of this. Just last month I called AARP to explain that the Alice Buckle who recently turned fifty lived in Charleston, South Carolina, in a lovely old house with a huge wraparound porch. “And how did I know this?” they asked. “Because I Google Earthed her,” I told them. “Google Earth Alice Buckle in Oakland, California, and you will find a woman standing in her driveway hurling an AARP magazine back at her mailman.”

Old girlfriends resurfacing. Getting retirement magazines before your time. This is not a good way to start off my Saturday. I Google Monkey Yoga. There’s a class in twenty minutes. If I hurry I can make it.

“And- shavasana , everybody.”

Finally, corpse pose! My favorite part of yoga. I roll over onto my back. Usually by the end of the class I’m nearly asleep. Not today. Even my fingertips are pulsing with energy. I should be running with Caroline-not doing sun salutations.

“Eyes shut,” says the teacher, walking around the room.

I stare up at the ceiling.

“Empty your mind.”

What the hell is happening to me?

“For those of you that want a mantra, try Ong So Hung .”

How can she say that with a straight face?

“This means ‘Creator, I am Thou.’ ”

I don’t need a mantra. I have a mantra that I’ve been repeating obsessively for the past twenty-four hours. You’ve done nothing to offend me-quite the opposite, actually-that’s the problem.

“Alice, try to stop fidgeting,” the teacher whispers, stopping at my mat. I close my eyes. She squats and puts the palm of her hand on my solar plexus.

That’s the problem? Let’s tease that sentence apart for the fiftieth time. The problem is I don’t offend him. The problem is he wishes I would offend him. The problem is he wishes I would offend him because I’m doing the opposite. What’s the opposite of offend? To please. To give pleasure. The problem is I’m giving him pleasure. Too much pleasure. Oh, God.

“Breathe, Alice, breathe.”

My eyes snap open.

I’m in the dressing room, changing out of my yoga gear, when a naked woman walks by on her way to the shower. Nudity is not something I’m comfortable with. Of course I might feel differently if I had a fabulous body like this woman, perfectly groomed, manicured, pedicured, her pubic hair completely waxed off.

I stare for a moment-I can’t help it; I’ve never seen an actual live woman with a Brazilian. Is this what men like? Is this what gives them pleasure ?

After my yoga class, Nedra and I meet for lunch. Just as she’s biting into her burrito I ask, “Do you wax down there?”

Nedra puts down her burrito and sighs.

“Of course it’s fine if you don’t. There might be different pubic-hair rules for lesbians.”

“I wax, darling,” says Nedra.

“How much?”

“All of it.”

“You’ve been getting Brazilians?” I cry. “And you didn’t tell me I should be getting them, too?”

“Technically, it’s called a Hollywood if you take everything off. You want the number of the place I go? Ask for Hilary. She’s the best and she’s quick; it barely hurts. Now can we talk about something else? Perhaps a topic more suitable for daylight?”

“Okay. What’s an antonym for ‘offend’?”

Nedra stares at me suspiciously. “Have you lost weight?”

“Why, do I look like I have?”

“Your face is skinnier. Are you working out?”

“I’m working too much to work out. School ends in two weeks. I’m juggling six plays.”

“Well, you look good,” says Nedra. “And you’re not wearing fleece for once. I can actually see your body. I like the tank-and-cardi look. It suits you. You have a very sexy neck, Alice.”

“A sexy neck?” I think of Researcher 101. I think I should show Nedra Lucy Pevensie’s Facebook page.

Nedra picks up her cellphone. “I’m going to call Hilary and make you an appointment because I know you’ll never do it.” She punches in the number, has a quick conversation, utters a thank you darling , and snaps her cell shut. “She had a cancellation. She can take you in an hour. My treat.”

“Nedra said you’re quick. And painless.”

“I do my best. Have you considered vajazzling ? Or vatooing ?” asks Hilary.

Does this woman really expect me to have a conversation about vajazzes when she’s about to apply hot wax to my vatoo ?

Hilary stirs the pot of wax with a tongue depressor. “Let’s take a look, shall we?” She lifts the paper thong and tsk s. “Someone hasn’t been keeping up with their waxing.”

“It’s been a while,” I say.

“How long?”

“Forty-four years.”

Hilary’s eyes widen. “Wow-a waxing virgin. We don’t get too many of those. Never even had the bikini line waxed?”

“Well, I keep things tidy. I shave.”

“Doesn’t count. Why don’t we start with a Brazilian with a two-inch strip? More of an American, really. We’ll ease you into it.”

“No-I want a Hollywood. That’s what everybody does these days, right?”

“A lot of younger people do. But most women your age tend to just neaten things up.”

“I want it all off,” I say.

“All right,” says Hilary.

She folds one side of the paper thong back and I close my eyes. The hot wax drips onto my skin. I tense up, expecting it to burn, but surprisingly it feels good. This isn’t so bad. Hilary lays down a cloth strip and smooths it.