Sugaring
Amira was hauled to the centre of the airless attic.
“Look who I found spying through the keyhole, bent over like an old man,” said Sadie, Amira’s newly married cousin.
The women faced Amira—stood unabashed in their half-nakedness—their bums and utooshies armoured in belly-button-high white cotton underwear, their white-coned breasts aimed at her.
Looking past their gazes, Amira twirled her hair and counted bra straps: eight pairs. Each pair pinned with dangling turquoise beads and medallions of St. Michael or St. Christopher, the Virgin Mary or Jesus Christ himself. She had none of those, not yet, and […]
