What'll It Be? Him or Me?

One reason some women never, never ever go to a spa, think about going to a spa or could imagine themselves going to a spa is because of body-shame. Some of us hate our bodies (or parts of it) so much that the mere concept of being naked under a sheet being stroked by a stranger, is so abhorrent it's almost a sin. Now, look. Isn't it time we all give up the fantasy? You know what I mean. The secret fantasy that we can somehow look like those heads-on-a-stick models if we didn't just don't eat that cookie!


It's time to listen up: Knock it off!

Your body is your body. Neither better nor worse than any other of the female gender. And I can't imagine any guys reading this blog, unless it was by accident on his way to porn, I mean Fantasy Football. Going to a spa is (usually) not like being in your 8th grade gym locker room. Spas are pretty. Spas are soothing. Sometime they have sleepy Indian flute music playing softly in the lobby. They smell good. It's dim. We look good under dim. And the lockers! Spacious (hopefully) and the robe is soft and huge and no one's looking at your ass. And the sinks! With moisturizing lotion, free plastic shavers, sometimes brushes! It's playtime and loads of fun. Whether you show it or not. (Some women are very blase about their spa time. Like no biggie. Me, I'm secretly jumping up and down inside my skin when I go for a treatment. I'm a junkie. A spa junkie. But that's just me. Believe me, I used to have plenty of body image issues. And I'm still not immune, as my sweet hub, Lew, will attest.

But I managed to rein it in and accept my cellulite. It's part of my thigh and I love my thigh. Everybody sing!

But seriously, dear reader: Be proud! Women's shapes vary. So what? I have seen every kind of body imaginable under the sun in the great equalizer known as a ladies' locker room. In one fabulous Canadian spa (I'll remember tomorrow -- I promise!) there were round women, Olive Oyl women, one-breasted women and embarrassed women who felt compelled to change in the bathroom.

None of us need feel ashamed of ourselves. It's been drummed into our psyches since grade school mind you, but we have to be aware that being proud of our bodies, regardless of what they look like will benefit......wait for it.... our DAUGHTERS!!!!!

Do we want our daughters to suffer through all the body-image nonsense we had to live with? Hell no! It's bad enough that today's celebutards collectively weigh 83 lbs. They have substance problems, too. But all of them look like escapees from a very unpleasant place. And it's because they hate their bodies too! Because if they gain an ounce, the tabloids call them "fat."

If they lose weight, they're "anorexic." They can't win, so of course they're all nuts. And, by the way they are anorexic and/or bulimic. It takes a reformed one to know one. Thank you and goodnight.

The point is, and I know there is one, is that women should treat themselves to a massage once in a while, it is one of the best sensual pleasures you can get without going to jail. It's heavenly touch (if you're lucky) for an hour, if you're lucky. No one cares what you look like under the sheet and your lady parts are always discreetly covered up. Good spas spoil you rotten (that's why I keep harping on my favorite 3, uh, oh, shameless plug ahead) like the Fairmont , the Four Seasons,
and the Ritz-Carlton.

For good reason. Any one of those hotels deliver impeccable service. I'm not B.S.ing. I'm not brown-nosing. Plain ol' truthity truth. Why are these places such a fortune to stay at? Because it's worth it. The staffers are always courteous, pleasant (in a non-condescending classist way) and the Ritz folk have one phrase branded into their temples: "It's my pleasure." Actually one time I counted how many times I heard that during a two-day stay at one.

I lost track at 97. And even though you know it's a rote phrase, it still makes you feel....good. And we all deserve that. So, to sum up:


Honor and love and respect your body! It houses your spirit and soul, regardless of what the bathroom scales say. Next time you feel bad about your thighs, take a look at Melanie Griffith's lips. How much do you have to hate yourself to inflict that mask on yourself? Poor thing. Yeah, poor Antonio is more like it.

Anyway, I stray from my point, which is merely:

Don't be afraid to get naked in front of other broads.
We all got the same thing or a version thereof.

We're hairy or waxed or something in-between.

We deserve to be pampered. W are women! Hear us roar!

Next time.