Mexican Spa Experience
The Mexican Spa ladies, Yolanda and Josie, sat outside on the back steps smoking.
“They sure have a lot of holidays,” Josie said, rubbing her hands together.
“What’s this one?” Yolanda asked. “Ballyntyne’s Day?”
“Who knows?” Josie chuckled, flicked her long ashes onto the sand. “I think it’s Martin Leather King somebody.”
Yolanda scrunched her eyes. “Who?”
“Maybe Benjamin Franklin Day.” They stared at the ocean. The sizzling noon sun baked them in their smocks. “I can’t take this anymore.”
“Me either.” Yolanda ran her hand through coarse, wavy hair. “I’m over this,” she said. “Working on fat, fucked up American women.”
Josie took a long drag on her cigarette. “Fatter, fattest,” she said, puffing her cheeks out like a blowfish.
They giggled, then had fits of laughter that seemed endless.
“Hey, Josie, your next client is here,” the manager called out the window.
Josie threw her unfinished butt into the ocean. “You mean, my next whale?” she said over her shoulder, popping in a mint.
Yolanda laughed so hard she farted.