Faux Pas

We all screw-up sometimes. Some more than others. Yep, I have my hand up too. It's called "Being Human."

And yet....

When I go to a spa, I don't want screw-ups.
I want a flawless experience, from check-in to air quality (too much incense? not enough essential oil?) to locker room space, to robe-fluffiness, to fantastic magical massage/facial/wrap/what-have-you, to being gently drifted back to landing space of the locker room. Crap. Reality.

So how come I've had more unpleasant spa experiences than I can count? Granted, I'm not a math genius, but I know I've had far too many than necessary.

For instance.


Think a hot rock massage is the answer to your knotted tension? Hah! I know, I know there are plenty of you out there (you know who you are) who swear by the therapeutic benefits of warm rocks placed on chakras/meridans/marma points/whatevers and Good for You!

That is wonderful! I'm so proud!

But I will never go near one of those River Rock suckers again. Unless I'm by a river and I see a cool-looking rock. Then I'll look at it, think some existential thought, and leave it alone! I don't want to warm it up and I certainly don't want it on my back for $95 an hour. I mean 50 minutes.

For those of you new to the column (and Shirley, I jest) I have had hot rocks dropped on my head during an awful (cold,-then-hot room/scratchy-nailed thrapist, you name it, it sucked) Hot Rocks Massage .


It hurt.

Hot hurt. Flat River Rock Bruising Hot. Then Nervous Nellie proceeded to drop the remaining loose HUGE rocks and the entire tray o' rocks onto the floor. A floor more reminiscent of a high school gym locker than a spa.

Ever sine then, I don't do rocks. Warm blankets, towels, old flannel sheets-- sure why not? Just nothing that weighs more than three ounces. Tops. No more ammunition-massage.


Which brings me to the Faux in the Pas. I've also had a nice buzz going from a soothing Acupressure, when Hello! The door opens and some random dudette wanders in. Whoops!

Talk about mood-buster. Try getting back into the Zone after an intrusion like that. For women, it's like re-gaining focus when, uh, something gets interrupted in the domicile. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.

Anyway. You all think that "Spa Writing" is so glam, so amazing. And you'd all be making a Faux Pas.

But you know what? If I can learn to forgive myself my own trespasses, I sure can forgive you.

Rock On, just carefully.