For my birthday, my boss gave me a $150 gift certificate for a massage at a luxurious day spa in my area. My problem is, I received this thoughtful gift on my birthday over a year ago.
That’s right, I haven’t used it yet. What’s wrong with me? I have friends who would absolutely love to spend the day lounging around and pampering themselves at the spa. Me? I’d rather walk on hot coals.
Don’t get me wrong. A few times a year, I do the mani-pedi thing because I admit I like my toenails to look pretty. And those ladies who double-team you with one doing your toes and the other doing your hands? I love those ladies, mainly because they’re so fast! Fast is good. I tell them, the faster you paint my paws and claws and send me on my way, the better I’ll tip you. It’s a win-win.
I have a friend who actually has planned a week-long spa vacation on a beach somewhere, where she’ll spend every single day going from massage to kelp wrap to waxing to—oh dear God—yoga? Then nature hikes, more massage, maybe a cucumber and radish sandwich for lunch and a mid-afternoon parsley juice refresher.
Just shoot me. Really, I’d rather eat dirt. I’m so not a girlie-girl.
Part of my problem may center around that table I have to spread out on. Is it just me, or does it resemble a torture device? Show of hands.
I guess I blame my lack of love for all things spa-centered on my childhood. I grew up with four brothers who treated my attempts to fluff and pamper myself with mockery and cynicism. My mother, while wonderful and thoroughly feminine, was hardly a role model due to her whirlwind life of bandaging or swabbing or rushing to the emergency room after one of my annoying brothers fell out of a tree or got hit by a stick or swallowed ant poisoning.
Because of that houseful of boys, I learned early on to eschew the joys of slathering and lathering in favor of bike riding, kite flying, tetherball and hide-n-seek. Today, I’m pretty much the same way, although I admit I do a lot more slathering in my futile attempt to stave off the many insidious signs of age. But that’s a topic for another day.
I suppose I’ll have to get that massage one of these days, but I’m not looking forward to it.