The words half-yearly or semiannual are generally tied to sales or smoke detectors but for a few of my alumni and I this is how often we get together to catch up, eat, drink, do karaoke and stay up all night – just like when we were how ever old we were six months prior.
The Elite Alumni Reunion, or ‘EAR’ as we like to call it, is truly for the most elite of our high school class and the First of the Year EAR was properly attended by the brightest and finest – Scared, BeCuz, On My Terms, Mini Sparkle Donut and me.
While snacking on a cheese ball and crackers BeCuz reminisced about someone from school. When On My Terms asked for a little more information about the person BeCuz said, “I think he was from the 8th ward.” This provided zero clarity for any of us. “The 8th ward? Really? Well I’m from the mental ward,” was On My Terms’ reply.
Our discussion quickly moved from wards to stakes – not the kind of stake that supports a plant or tree (although On My Terms, on her 6th Rum and Sum – a little bit of rum and a whole lot of Diet Coke, might benefit from that kind of stake). I shared a story about a non-elite alumnus running away, breaking into a stake center, bathing in the baptismal font and eating all of the sacramental bread. The alumnus who did this was quite short but, based on this bold move, he immediately became quite tall in the eyes of his alumni.
The natural progression of this discussion moved to vajayjays; specifically, my old vajayjay. I shared the story of my doctor visit with my alumni and they all listened rather intently. “I don’t think that’s half as bad as what I was once told,” Scared advised us. “What did they tell you”? we persisted. “That I was loose,” she reported. “Has your husband said anything about you being loose?” I asked. “No and, even if I am, he wouldn’t say anything. He’s too polite,” she replied. Clearly, we are not, regardless of which ward or stake we claim.
I can’t be positive since I can’t speak for this “Scared” person but I’m pretty sure that great vajayjay compliment came from her sweet wax girl and not her gyno.
Look, I cannot keep track of who has been between my legs, let alone another person’s legs. That said, I think this was your story and I do believe you are correct – you were getting a wax.