Ode to the Spa

Oh.
My.
Goodness.

I spent a morning at the spa.
For the first time in my life I felt like Paris Hilton... um....
... except for her nutty personality... okay... and all the nutty men she dates... and all that nutty DUI stuff...
So I am completely reversing that horrible parallel and saying that I feel like a nameless and yet super-rich blue blood from New York. Why New York? Because of Gossip Girl! :)

ANY-way: the point is that I was pam-pered with a capital 'P'.
What privilege!
What luxury!

What have I been missing all my life?

I knew I was destined for more of this kind of stuff as soon as the Dead-Sea wrap was applied...

(On a brief rabbit trail: who invented that, anyway? Was some girl just strolling around on the shore of that big, salty sea in Israel and exclaimed, "Wunderbar! I should package the mud at the bottom of this lake and send it all over the world for people to rub on their bodies. I'll tell them it's full of minerals and antitoxins and they'll pay me big bucks to turn themselves into mud babies."
Good luck getting the bank to approve that venture...)

But I digress...
She scrubbed me (with genuine dead-sea salt, no less!), mudded me and then wrapped me up like a sandwich in saran-wrap, a sheet and a thermal (shiny on one side) blanket.
I'm not joking. Like a sandwich.
Then she said, "You'll be like this for a half-hour", turned down the lights, put on soft music and left. The only complication was the itch in my left knee which I was able to ignore because of my active combat with the slight feeling of claustrophobia. It was like, "It's okay... I'm camping... just camping... and I'm just in a really, really snug sleeping bag..." My nose also started running somewhere during that half-hour... but since I had the room all to my muddy-bodied little self, I felt quite liberated to sniff to my heart's desire.

After that was done, she gave me a robe (a dark brown one because of the very muddy Dead Sea mud - clever, no?) and took me to the Hydrotherapy tub. Not a jacuzzi tub... this thing didn't have jets... but gave a super-massage by some other mysterious means.
I actually found myself siting in there giggling like a 3 year old because I was sitting in a gigantic bathtub with huge mounds of bubbles drinking Spa water and knowing I wasn't going to have to clean the muddy tub afterwards.
And the little yellow rubber-ducky sitting by the faucet was pretty funny, too.
It was like being amazed at the fanciest restaurant ever, and then they tell you the special is macaroni and cheese.
I asked myself, "Is it for ambiance (elegance paired with humility, for example), or a cure for boredom when those 15 minutes stretch on too long?"
I quietly sang Ernie's famous ode to the quacking saffron friend: "Rubber-Ducky, you're the one... (ba-bah-ba-bah-da!)... you make bathtime lots of fun... (bah-be-bah-be-bah-dooo!)..."

After that was done, I re-robed (but not with the Dead Sea-muddy one) and went back to my room for my half-hour relaxation massage.
That part was worth the entire morning.
Previously, the only massages I've had are from family - except for after Autumn was born I was so sore before the funeral that I went for therapy a couple of times... but those weren't exactly the most relaxing circumstances.
My analysis of this experience?
Wow.
Really. That's all I can say - so I'll just say it again for good measure.
Wow.

The funniest part (even funnier than Rubber Ducky) was when she brought in the stuff for my hand and foot paraffin wax. She took my left foot and stuck it in this big plastic bag filled with hot wax and I was thinking to myself, "!"
She must have clued in at my sudden head-raise and the look of "What the heck are you doing down there?" (which I would never actually say because I'm trying to look like I'm Mrs Uber-relaxed sophisticate) and she said, "Have you ever had a paraffin wax before?"
Uh... nope. And why are you putting hot ziplock baggies on my extremities?
So she explained about how it's good for joints, and feels great in the winter... etc. And by that time, the initial, "I think the bottom of my feet have been seared off" sensation had cooled and it started to feel pretty wonderful.

After that I got a 'mini' manicure (choosing mother-of-pearl polish in honor of the snow or something like that) and Kurt came to pick me up. When I got in the truck I had a severe case of the giddies and informed him that I am totally ruined because I loved the whole thing.
Simple, country-girl Kendall no longer exists because crazy muddy Kendall took over in the Hydrotherapy tub.
Poor soon-to-be-broke man...
... but at least he won't have trouble thinking of gifts for me in the future! ;)

Now I should finish this tale with the disclaimer that I didn't buy this experience for myself. I got the gift certificate from my parents last year for Christmas and it expires tomorrow. I didn't intentionally take it to the last minute, but with the pregnancy and nausea and swelling, and difficulty laying on my tummy it just got pushed back until "later". I figured I'd leave the baby with Kurt for a morning and do it in the fall. Well, the fall obviously didn't progress as I had pictured - so when I found the gift certificate in my bedside table last month I thought I should get out and take advantage of it.

Disclaimer done!
Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow.
I am reduced to such inarticulateness when lavished with non-essential vanity treatments. Case in point: I used the world 'inarticulateness'. Groan.

If you are a person of the male-sort, and you are having trouble thinking of something for your significant wife-type person... this would be a pretty good idea. Trust me.

That's what I'm telling Kurt, anyway. (chuckle)

And, if you live in the same city as us, click here and see where I went. (And before you cry out at the prices - trust me when I tell you that they are actually pretty reasonable compared to other day-spas.)

So that was my day-spa adventure. Can't wait for the next one! ;-D

Wow. :)