| August 23, 2001 Watercourse Way. That's the place. My Mother's Day present from my older son. Because I need to de-stress. It's nearly September. My older son said he'd strangle me if I didn't get my butt over there. My younger son added his voice to this. "Get your massage," they chorus. So, I made an appointment. Finally. My boss wasn't certain about this. FTO? I worked Monday from 9:30 to 3:30 and then at home from 4:30 to 11PM Comp time baby! So I went. First, I left my younger son slumbering in a heap. Too early to wake him. He wants to sleep 'till noon. I left orange juice. I put oatmeal on the stove with a bowl and spoon. Microwave available. I left bread. I left Crackers and chips. I left. I got there way too early. So I scouted it out, knew where it was (under construction - hard to find). I drove over to a mall and got the new issue of Vogue. Excuse me - is this a magazine or a catalog??? 722 pages? And nose spray - because I was out. I went back. In the temporary trailer, I signed in. They walked me over, got me a robe, slippers and sack. Put me in a room. Oh My Heavens! Lights. Music. Sauna. BIG spa. Water cascading down the wall. Even a bed to collapse on. And a HUGE shower. They will know when I have 10 minutes until my massage. Naked, I shower first and then descend into the spa. What a wild adventure. Low lights. Music. Towel on my head in a valiant attempt to keep my hair in some semblance of order. I try the jets. Heavy duty. I can't hear the music so I kill them. (The jets.) I try the sauna. HOT! I can't be in there more than a few moments at a time. I run in and out. I have a cup of water (good thing I brought it in). I float. I am up to my neck in warm water. I turn the lights even lower and switch channels. All soft mood music. Very Oriental decor. Rocks. Water. Buddas. I am very relaxed when they clump on the door. It didn't lock. And I do worry about the construction guy I saw winding his way around the building with towels and a power drill. I dry off, don my robe and slippers and go sit on the padded bench and wait. I find the restroom and wait a bit. And then go back. I told them I am fairly large and I needed a big, strong man. I got one. Jerry arrives. My turn. We go upstairs. You go barefoot into the room. He leaves and I disrobe and get under the sheet. It's a thin sheet. Oh my! We start. He starts with my neck - which is as stiff as a board. It takes awhile but it cracks finally and then I have range of motion. It's hard to relax but I am trying. Shoulders. Legs. Arms. Back. I have an hour of this. I start on one side and the roll over. He's very good at draping that sheet! We joke that I am not letting go - hard to learn to do that. Just go limp and have someone move you around while you lay about in the nude. Weird experience. But when he is done, it's an adventure. I would prefer to just go to sleep right there! Face down on the table. But, I dress (make up and hair are a lost cause) and make my way downstairs, very carefully. He passes me on the stairs and sees that I am walking. Well, I am. But by the time I reach the counter, I realize that my legs are like rubber. I don't care if I am late for work. I tip the masseuse. I drive to work. No rush. I try to brush my hair and put make up on somewhat in the downstairs bathroom and go upstairs to work. Giggling is a priority today. I have to do that again! They tell me I can bring my younger son in and get in the spa with him so he can enjoy the spa. When his counts are up I think I will. Maybe let him have the spa. Then he can wait on a padded seat while I get a massage. Yes. That will work. Maybe we'll make it a family affair. Oh my but that could be addictive! (The massage - not the family affair.) Of course, I came home to find my younger son had juice, hot sauce and chips. So much for the food I put out! But I didn't care. He can walk. He must walk. He will walk. I'm resting. |
The Naked Housewifetm Project is the property of Donnamaie E. White and Pepper Gregory.
For information about this file or to report problems in its use email dew@Donnamaie.com