Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Fast forward to May 2010. I had been saving that card for months, waiting for things to calm down in each department of my life. I was determined to make this day at the spa last...at least an entire day! There was no way I wanted to walk out the doors of the spa and jump back into a frying pan of gut wrenching, hair expelling, skull in a vice feelin', jaw dislocatin' STRESS, so I waited. Then I waited some more. At last, when it seemed like all was calm and there was very little chance of crisis in the workplace or at home, I scheduled my appointment.
I've only been to a spa three times now, and when I go, I like to imagine I can really afford it, and not just once a year, but once a week. I like to imagine I'm a very important person with an unlimited amount of funding to be pampered like the queen I surely must have been in some other life. It's funny, because I consider myself very spiritual and not at all materialistic. Possessions mean very little to me, but the pampering. Oh the pampering! God forgive me, but how I desire that pampering!
So, with my mindset in 'queen for a day' mode, I arrived at the spa for my first treatment. I'd always wanted to try the citrus salt glow scrub. It sounded so rich and luxurious in the spa pamphlet! I'd never imagined I'd feel like a sumo wrestler, with a towel wrapped around me like a diaper, being scrubbed by some strange woman in the dark. Still, it made my skin feel baby soft, and the special vichy shower they used to rinse off the scrub was very therapeutic. It felt just like rain. What I was really looking forward to, though, was the La'Stone Therapy Massage, and that was next up on the docket. A girlfriend of mine said she had melted like butter when Steve, the massage therapist, placed the hot stones on her back. I was so ready to melt like butter. So, said strange woman who scrubbed me down, wrapped me in the spa's signature robe, handed me a bag with all my clothes (Yes, ALL my clothes), and helped me slip into some flip flops. "Are you ready for your hot stone massage?"
"Yes! I am so ready!" It was time for the journey to tranquility town.
"Ok, hon, we just need to walk back down these steps and into the lobby to meet Steve who will be doing your massage." I felt a mix of joy that I was getting this reportedly awesome Steve, and concern that I had to walk through the lobby in nothing but a robe, without makeup, and with a very unattractive white girl fro from the vichy shower. Oh well, not to worry. I was traveling to tranquility town. I was a decedent of queens today, albeit only in my mind, so what did anyone's opinion matter to a queen? So down the steps I went, except, toward the bottom of the steps, this queen's right foot decided to stop while her majesty's left foot decided to speed up without warning. I hadn't dried my feet and they were sliding in the flip flops.
"Whoops!" Thud, thud, thud, thud. I believe the cheerleading term for the position my body contorted to is a "herky", with one leg curled behind you and the other straight in front. Aside from the thuds and my little whoops sounds, I don't really think anyone would have noticed except that the strange diaper wrapping scrubber lady screamed,
"Noooooooooooooo! NO! NO! NO! Oh noooooooooooooooooooooooo!" as she tried to hold me up and hold my robe together simultaniously. "OH MY GOD! ARE YOU OK? ARE YOU SURE? YOU'RE SURE?" I was whispering replies with false hope that she would lower her voice. "YOU'RE SURE YOU'RE OKAY?"
"I'm fine. Really. Just slippery flip flops. No biggie. Calm down. Really. Calm down. Please. Seriously." I looked up to find that somehow we'd arrived at the bottom of the steps and into the lobby. I noticed lots of people with faces, I'd imagine, as red as mine, trying to avoid looking at me. Two teenage girls giggled in the corner. "I guess that's what I get," I thought to myself. Too much anticipation and too much build up; that almost always leads to disappointment. I'd like to hope that no one saw my personal downstairs region as I fell down the stairs on my day at the spa, but I'll never know, and I'll never ask weird diaper wrapping scrubber lady. No need to feel sad for me though, because I too melted like butter during my stone therapy massage. Steve truly was a magic man, and all was forgotten by the end of my day at the spa. Well...almost. I suppose the moral of the story is, when you get a spa gift card, there is no need to hold it for fours months in hopes of an uneventful stretch of life. Just go, already. Oh, and dry your feet before you put on the flip flops. http://mandyleachjustice.vemma.com/
***UPDATE 1/15/2011- Steven, aka, Magic Man, has his own place, and I highly reccommend his hot stone therapeutic massage!!! Check him out here: