Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Who's That Girly Girl (Part 3)

After writing yesterday's Girly Girl blog post, I remembered that I had $100 in SpaFinder gift certificates from a caller. Apparently, at his job, when you do awesome above-and-beyond things, they reward you with these points that you can cash in for gift certificates -- he used his to get me SpaFinder for a post-move stress-release massage. Please, by all means, continue to be awesome at work on my behalf!

Turns out, the place nearest to me that accepts those gift cards also has an exfoliating massage followed by a "Vichy Shower" which looks like this:
That's SEVEN shower heads. I was lying on a rubber mat (which totally made me want to go down a water slide) on a steel bed in a completely tiled room with drains in the floor. The massage therapist scrubbed my body with sea salt and marine botanicals, then rinsed me off with the awesome multi-headed shower thing, then slathered me with a moisture-sealing oil. Then I flipped over and repeated on my front side.

Before I flipped over, I informed her that I didn't care if she saw me naked, because I was a theater major, and I got used to changing in front of a lot of people (my standard line for such situations). She innocently asked, "Do you still do anything with theater?", and I realized that my standard line invites that question... I'll have to rethink that.

So I answered, "Uhhhhhmmmm, kinda, but if you're not in the mood to be shocked, I'll just keep the answer to myself." She practically squealed, "Now you HAVE to tell me!" and so I did, indeed, inform her that I'm a phone sex operator. Her enthusiastic response of, "OH MY GOD that's AWESOME... now I have a thousand questions!" totally made the experience even more fun.

Yes, I told her about you. You, specifically. I'm sure I did. :)

Afterwards, when I was all glowy and happy, with the softest, healthiest skin of my life, I took this picture in the spa robe specifically posed so I could post it on the blog:

I know, the picture quality on my phone is crap, but I'm sure I do a horrible job of holding still when my arms are all post-massage-noodley, and the picture looks fine on the little screen...

You're missing the point, anyway. The important thing here is how happy and relaxed I look! Gawlee!  /hrmph /grin

Afterwards, I desperately needed sexy hands rubbed over all my newly soft skin, so I asked my husband to oblige me, which he kindly did (yay me!). We had a fantastic afternoon romp, and then we went to dinner, which I decided merited a little dressing up (hippie style, of course - it takes more than just being massaged to get me into a cocktail dress), even though we went to a local Tex-Mex dive place where nobody cares what I look like:
The purple ball on the floor squeaks when bitten by rescue mutts. Loudly. So loudly that it is off limits when I'm on the phone. And although it would be lovely if the bed were mussed because of the afternoon hubby-tussling, really, the bed was the site of an epic face-biting puppy war over Who Gets The Purple Ball while I was getting dressed.

Dinner was fantastic, and I'm in an absolutely delicious mood for the evening. Yum.

And that, my friends, is the story of a lovely, girly afternoon of pampering, also known as: "Why I Have Moved SpaFinder Gift Certificates To The Top of My Wish List"

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