The bachelorette Saturday was held at a really frou-frou spa in Santa Monica. We had all made massage appointments and were supposed to “take advantage of the other spa facilities” while we waited. The other spa facilities were a steam room, a sauna, a quiet room and a Jacuzzi. I couldn’t help but notice how many women were perfectly comfortable walking around stark naked. Naked in the Jacuzzi, naked with their legs spread in the steam room, naked in the shower, naked blow-drying their hair???
When the spa guide handed me my robe and slippers I asked her where I should change. She looked at me puzzled and said, “right here of course.”
We were standing in the hallway between the bathrooms and steam room.
“Oh, ok then.” Ugh.
I found myself just kind of pacing around from room to room. The steam room was too steamy, the sauna was too hot, (go figure,) and the quiet room was…well… too quiet! So I went out to the lounge in my robe and read a Glamour magazine and waited for my massage.
It’s not that I’m a prude by any stretch of the imagination, I swear! But, I guess the whole spa thing isn’t for me. I recently found out I’m the only one of my friends who leaves their underwear on during a massage?
I JUST started allowing male masseuses again after a long hiatus. The hiatus was brought on by my very first “spa” experience in Ojai, CA. My dad’s girlfriend at the time brought me to one of those hippie, health-food-serving, eco-friendly resorts. And by resort I mean there were 4 walls and a parking lot. She had scheduled us each a massage but didn’t specify male or female when booking.
Her masseuse comes out and she’s a 20 something beautiful Asian woman with a big smile. My masseuse comes out and he’s 50 something with a wooden leg, an eye patch and a beard down to his chest. All he was missing was the Jolly Roger Flag and parrot on his shoulder.
I spent the entire massage stiff as a board, all the while staring through the head support at Long John Silver’s wooden leg humming Yo Ho Yo Ho a Pirate’s life for me.
Having said that, all my inhibitions fly out the window when it comes to back tickles. I’ll let anyone who’s willing scratch or tickle my back. Son of Sam could scratch my back and I’d ask him for 5 more minutes.
Go figure.
