but something about the sight of ericas weeping vulnerability at this moment , writhing against that pole - mascara smeared already , her stupid perfectly trimmed triangle of pubic hair , her stupid perfect softball sized breasts , her stupid tanned washboard abdomen convulsing in and out as she attempts to scream - something about this sight sets loose in donna such inexplicable revulsion , and its this moment more than any other that haunts her : she actually remembers spitting in the poor girls face .