Yeast Desperately Searching For Salve...and Perhaps Salvation

Sorry to bother you on a Saturday, Mia said.

Her rose gold phone was on the bed and speakerphone was selected. She was offensively high and her voice sounded smeared. She pictured Dr. Ruspin on the other end, mild and gray-bearded, in a spectacular kitchen. Chickpea alfredo.

She waited for him to say, That’s all right, but there was only silence.

It’s just preternaturally itchy. Like, the itchiest it’s ever been. Is there any discharge? Nope! Any pain with urination? No, it’s definitely not a UTI. I just need Diflucan. Fluconazole.

Though I’ve taken the generic before and it hasn’t quite worked, so. I’ll send a prescription over, but if it doesn’t get better you have to come into the office on Monday. Okay, but I just want you to know I’m positive it’s yeast. What pharmacy do you use? CVS. Um. Fuck. Sorry. It might not be open. Can you give me a second while I find a 24-hour place near me? Dr. Ruspin didn’t say anything. Mia grabbed her laptop. She typed in 24-hour CVS near me. The internet was slow. Fuck. She took a hit from her tiny wooden vaporizer. Held it in.

Mia? Yeah? Why don’t you just text it to me when you have it. Oh, okay. This is your text? I mean, this is your cell? Yes, said Dr. Ruspin. He sounded irate and bored. Perhaps a highborn wife was beckoning with sauvignon blanc. Mia wanted him to know she wasn’t just another loser. She wanted him to know that she knew about white wine. She loved Riesling and Sancerre. She knew a lot.

Okay! Okay, thanks. Bye now. Bye!

• • •

The sativa was hairy and Granny Smith green. It smelled like rain puddles in London in the springtime. And the sweat of a regal man.

I am so high, Mia drawled. She reached her hands between her legs and grated her v with her nails. She’d hoped the pot would dull the itch but if anything it only bejeweled it.