|MY DAUGHTER AND I AT THE SPA, SPAWNING A NEW CATEGORY OF SELFIES: |
My daughter, Piggly Wiggly's mother, somehow convinced me to spend an afternoon at the spa, which is amazing in about 80 ways, two of the most notable of those being A) I'm a cheapskate and B) I am not of The Pamperers tribe. Really, I'm not. I feel deeply uncomfortable amidst luxury and would far rather sit at home eating Pringles and not wearing pants than pay a complete stranger to rub my weird leg. However, because she is adorable and also because she genuinely needed an afternoon at the spa, I relented. (Plus she was paying, so "Great, what time do you want me to be there?")
The spa of her choosing was the venerable Langdon Hall — which, again, amazing, because after our last ill-fated and obscenely overpriced run-in with elitism I swore I'd seen the last of that place — and we were to be there at 2 p.m., at which time the personal massaging would commence.
"Will I have to be naked?" I fretted. "I haven't shaved in months; I'm a Yeti from the waist down."
"Don't worry, Mom," my daughter soothed. "It's dark in there. Just relax and enjoy the luxury."
"I hate luxury," I huffed.
But here's the thing about luxury: it's very easy to pooh-pooh in the abstract and yet impossible resist once you actually encounter it. (Which, come to think of it, is exactly how my friends probably describe me.) Once I entered that dimly lit room with the heated flagstone floors and the dreamy Hari Krishna soundtrack and those hands, those incredible healing hands of the saints, I became a different person. A person who says things like: "Mmm, these sheets feel amazing, what's their thread count?" and "Perhaps a just bit more craniosacral pressure? Ooh, yeah, right there."
After the massage it was on to the facials, and then the hot tub and the sauna and a lounge where you get to loll around in fluffy monogrammed robes, drinking coffee and nibbling superior homemade granola and ... what? It's time to pay up and go home? No! Noooooo! I was just starting to fit in here! want another rub-n-tug! Sorry, I meant a massage. This is obviously a perfectly respectable establishment, your majesties. The prices alone are a clue. Okay, okay, fine, I'm leaving. *makes mad scrabble for the free soaps and shower caps* I'M LEAVING, I SAID! Just let me finish my fucking granola, wouldja ... hey! Well I never.
MY NOTE: All kidding aside, that was fun. We should do it again some time!
DAUGHTER'S NOTE: Totally! *blocks mother's phone number* Call me!