I know, I'm supposed to do a Dear Crabby tonight. But ain't no way this uber happy chica will be able to be snarky and cynical tonight. One, it was way too nice outside - 72 and sunny! But two, and this is a big one, I got a body polish tonight. Let me do you a solid and tell you to GET THIS DONE IMMEDIATELY.
Basically, the polish is a fancy way of saying that some stranger will scrub all your dead skin layers off, along with a few others, so that you're all silky smooth. Like you just had your umbilical cord snipped off. That's what it IS, now here's it WAS...FOR ME.
My awesome mom and dad got me a gift card to the fancy shmancy salon in my hometown. Snobsville, MN. I've been there loads before when I was young, but never as a broke adult. Needless to say, my wine-stained t-shirt was, uh, frowned upon. Whatevs. So, I get to the front desk, making sure I'm covering my wine stain with my gifted Kate Spade bag, (I think I'm passing!) and check in at the front desk.
Lady: What shoe size are you?
Me: Oh, I'm just getting a body polish.
Lady: I know. What shoe size?
Out come my very own Small slippers. In a cloth bag. Fancy.
Lady shows me to the Spa locker room (Spocker room?). All kinds of twists and turns. Crap, I'm lost already. Panic.
Lady: Go ahead and change into this pre-warmed super soft robe. You can take all your clothes off - except your unders.
Me: [Internally] "Unders"? WTF does that mean? Is that bra? Underwear? How is someone saying an abbrevs that I don't know?!" Panic.
Me: [Externally] Totally, I know EXACTLY what you're talking about because I definitely am a fancy lady who does NOT drink warm white wine from a red Solo cup.
The woman leaves and I hightail it into the privacy of a stall. I'm furiously changing and slipping into the super soft robe and slippers, sweating and deciding what "unders" are. Then I make it out to the Spa lobby (Spobby?), kick back by the fireplace and sip cucumber water.Fancy.
My polish (not Polish) lady comes and gets me. She takes me to the room and gives me a lengthy explanation of what to expect. It's nice, actually, because nothing scares me more than strangers rubbing me unexpectedly. She leaves the room, I drop the robe and get under the blankets. She doesn't come back in for like 5 minutes. I'm panicking, rethinking my interpretation of "unders". Wondering what to do with my hair...my arms...my everything. Panic!
She finally comes back in and starts with the sloughing. So much sloughing. I think: I'm totally losing weight! She's rearranging the blankets as she goes, and I am only minimally aware of the fact that she's vigorously rubbing my fattest body parts, when she says "Oop, you left your unders on!"
OMG! WTF ARE UNDERS?!
Turns out, I shouldn't have kept the underwear on, I guess. Whatevs. She grits me all up and sends me to the shower.
polish lady: Do you want a shower cap?
Me: What, am I 100? No thanks.
I step into the shower. The hot/cold nozzle is...perplexing. I spin it on and the water comes out. From the ceiling...like rain! It is my DREAM SHOWER. Fancy! Sadly, I had to adjust it to the handheld sprayer, though, because I didn't have a shower cap and this isn't, like, a morning shower where I can prance around with wet hair. Plus, it's freezing because I can't figure out how to get it hot. Panic!
I take a freezing cold shower under the teeny nozzle before stepping out into the open locker room. Polish lady comes and gets me and my damp hair. I look like a wet, cold cat.
But my skin. MY SKIN! It's the softest thing I'd ever felt before. I'm a marble statue. A baby's butt. Cream cheese frosting. It's...AMAZING.
Back in the room, polish lady is talking about dead skin cells or something. I'm a million miles away while she rubs the moisturizer into my fattest body parts. It is wonderful.
By this time, I've been swallowed up by the fancy. The soft robes, the aromatic neck warmers, the CURRENT ISSUES of OK! Magazine in the Spobby, the complete lack of visible jars of blue disinfectant, the nostalgia of the snobby, thinly-veiled condescension of the girls behind the reception desk...it was enough for me to forget to panic at check out when it came to adding up tip.
It was a blur of pampering that I very much needed. I feel like a trillion dollars. A gajillion dollars. I've decided that I am too frugal when it comes to pampering. I don't get manicures or pedicures, I don't get my eyebrows waxed, I've never had a facial, and I'm too worried about someone touching my feet to get massages. I'm low maintenance, yo! I will, however, be getting body polishes on a regular basis now. Nothing says "I'm a low maintenance chick who is watching her pennies," more than hiring someone to scrape off your dead skin and make you take a shower.
The only problem is that Claire and Andrew are getting prettttttttttty tired of "feeling me".