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An
Inability to Sit Still
Okay, my first spa treatment is
accomplished.......barely. Who knew that visiting a deluxe spa could be so
stressful? Enter a "quiet room" which is the equivalent of a quiet tomb before
my scalp massage treatment. Anyone who attends the movies with me knows that I
am not able to maintain silence let alone hold still for more than two minutes
at a time. I pay good money for a movie ticket and believe it is my right to
repeat aloud the lines I find most amusing. My husband disagrees and we don't go
to movies much anymore. Take a banana from the fruit bowl, a perfect pre-spa
snack. Begin peeling banana which makes a very loud cracking sound. Old man in
comfy looking chaise lounge gives me the hairy eyeball. Ignore him and commence
to chewing. Good God, what has happened to my chewers? They have suddenly become
obnoxiously loud. I am sounding like my daughter, Smackers. Try a sip of my
water and find that I am unable to sip quietly and in fact have soiled my nice
robe. Look longingly at old man in divan next to me; he has the perfect pre-spa
chair. Make mental note to arrive earlier for next treatment.
Spa employees enter the room and call out guests names: Betty-Detoxifying
Seaweed Body Mask, Gertrude-Desert Rain Scrub, Bart-Polarity. Polarity? What the
heck is polarity? Sounds kind of kinky, maybe I should have been polarized. Now
that would definitely been something to write home about. Shawn-Head Massage.
Thankfully leave the dreadful quiet room and follow my masseuse. This should be
good...........no one rubs my head at home.
We retreat to a small room enclosed by a curtain off of the nail parlor.
Strange. Masseuse begins rubbing my head, open eyes for a moment only to find to
my horror that tree foliage is falling out of my rats nest hair. Regret that I
did not rake my hair this morning after my refreshing walk. Too late, the dye is
cast.
A man enters the nail parlor. Surely he is a metro-sexual, not that there is
anything wrong with that of course. Listen to him whine about how he (manly man
getting his freaking nails done) is bored here in Arizona. He has hiked, biked,
and climbed every trail and mountain possible. He also comments about the
unmanageability of his cuticles. He thinks he will move to Seattle. I think he
has dishpan hands, but keep this information to myself.
Leave backroom in a most disheveled looking condition. My hair has nourishing
oil in it which gives me the look of a greased pin head. Completely forget about
man with bad cuticles. He is most likely the only man here and I am not looking
my most fetching. Decide I don't care and head for steam room to soak my
pinhead.
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