“Why don’t you use a cream?”
I raised my eyebrows at her. “I can’t really see a cream having much effect down there. The hairs are kind of thick.”
“No, it’s fine; the creams are designed to work on all types of hair. Why don’t you go ahead and trim, and I’ll go to the supermarket and buy the cream?”
“Okay, but if it goes wrong, I’m blaming you,” I warned as I chucked her my wallet and walked into the bathroom to start the preparation. I hated trimming my pubes. I didn’t know what length to trim them to, and Lara was useless in this area because she was so fair her entire body was hairless. I doubted she had ever had to decide which hair-removal method was best because she definitely didn’t have any. I’d noticed in Year Seven when we changed for swimming.
I started trying to pull the hairs together in clumps so I could trim them in mini sections. I channeled my inner hairdresser, sectioning the hair in between my fingers and cutting the ends of it. I snipped away as best I could, struggling as I did the lips. The hair fell away into the loo bowl and eventually I was left with a relatively evenly trimmed vagina. I leaned over so my head was in between my legs. Then the door swung open.
“Jesus, Ellie, what are you doing?”
I snapped my head up and pulled my dress back down. “What happened to knocking? I was checking for stray hairs but I’m tempted to give up on them now.”
“Yeah, you can just get them with this,” she said, as she triumphantly waved a tube of hair-removal cream and a bag of M&M’s. As I reached for the chocolate, she threw the cream at me.
“I figured we’d need extra chocolate for this. We can eat them while we’re waiting for the cream to de-hair you.”
I rolled my eyes but dutifully pulled my dress up. Lara groaned. “Ellie, I seriously wish you wouldn’t just whip all your clothes off without some kind of warning.”
“What? I went to an all-girls school.”
“We went to the same school.”
“Exactly, so you should be fine with it. How much of this stuff do I put on?”
She examined the packet. “Right, you need to make sure all the hairs are covered, so I’d just put loads on if I were you. And then we leave it for ten minutes but you’ll probably need fifteen because it says leave it on for two minutes longer for tough hairs.”
“Twelve minutes, then.”
“You’re standing in front of me with your vagina out. Trust me, you need fifteen.”
I slathered the white cream, which stank worryingly of chemicals, over my pubes. Then I sat on the loo with my legs spread wide open so the cream wouldn’t wear off against my thighs. Lara was lying in the empty bath, passing me M&M’s.
“I don’t understand how a cream can be as effective as a wax wrenching the hairs out. How can this stuff do the same thing?” I asked.
“Judging by the strong smell coming from between your legs, there are enough chemicals in there to burn them off.”
“Ohmigod, do you think that if I leave it on for too long it will burn me?”
“Nah, probably not. Shall I check the instructions, though?”
I tried to reach for them to chuck over to her but I couldn’t without getting off the loo. Instead I held out my hand out for more M&M’s.
“What does the timer say?”
Lara glanced at her iPhone and announced, “You officially have forty-five seconds and then you’re free to wash it off.”
I jumped up in excitement and gestured for her to get out of the bath.
Gingerly, I switched the shower on and did a silent prayer. I moved the showerhead down and waited for the hairs to wash away.
Two minutes later, I was still waiting. Panicking, I started to rub them, and a few came off in my hand. The rest stayed, so I rubbed harder. A few more came away, but after five minutes of frantic rubbing, I was left with a vagina scattered with small patches of pubes. It looked like a sad, bald potato sprouting hairs.
We spent two hours and a bottle of wine consoling me. But by the time we tottered out of my room, we were both snorting with laughter.
“It looks like one of those Mr. Potato Head toys,” sniggered Lara. “With a receding hairline.”
“Here’s hoping some lucky man in Mahiki is into the sparse-pubes look.”
“Yeah, you never know, it could be some kind of fetish,” she giggled.
“Poor vagina,” I said, as we hobbled to the bus stop on our high heels. It was cold so we wore coats but left our legs bare for sex appeal. I wished I hadn’t relied on alcohol to keep me warm.
“If we were rich, we could get a cab,” said Lara as we finally sat on the 390 towards Green Park.