Stupid Spas

I'm going to spend this afternoon at the spa. Because I have to. That's right. I have to.

Well, I don't have to.

But, see, I have this problem with spa gift certificates, in the sense that I get them, and I'm like, "Yay!" and then I put them in a drawer and I find them two years later, way after the expiry date. And then I think, "Damn. That's like a $200 gift down the drain."

Gift certificates to spas stress me out. Yesterday for example, I saw the gift certificate the fiance bought me for a Mother's Day package. This Mother's Day spa package includes a manicure (an hour) a pedicure (an hour) a massage (an hour) and lunch. In total, this package was for four hours.

Ok, I know four hours in a spa may sound nice. But what working mother has four hours to spend in a spa?

Ok, I do.

But I don't really like spending four hours anywhere.

Yes, even in a spa, where I'm supposed to be getting pampered, I get bored.

And it's never really relaxing. While I'm getting a facial, the facialist is always yammering on about what products she's using now and why they're so great and why I should buy them. It's less stressful watching an infommercial.

But I've dealt with that. I just say, "You can tell me all about the products you use after we're finished, but I think I'm going to try and fall asleep during the facial." Hint, hint.

Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't. Even when I say I want to fall asleep, they'll be like, "And now I'm putting something hot on your face. And now this is going to feel cold. And, oh, and this product is great. I'll write it down for you so you can purchase it after."

And I get really stressed out thinking, "Ok, will she shut up now? Is she going to say something now? Why is she talking to me? Should I tell her again I want to fall asleep?"

Massages, well, I try not to get them anymore. The thing is, half the time I leave feeling great. Half the time I feel like - what the fuck? - they just screwed up my back forever. And, also, I always forget to request a woman and so sometimes I end up with a man. I don't like strange men rubbing my ass. It makes me stressed out. (And, my fav part of a massage, is when they rub my gluts.)

Manicures? Well, I usually ask, "So what's the popular color this season?" And, I'm not sure if it's because I'm in Calgary or what, but the answer is usually, "Bright orange!" So I have to explain that, um, I'm not a senior in Miami Beach so I can't go around wearing bright orange nail polish. How about something pale pink?

Anyway, I didn't want this year's gift certificate to go to waste, beacuse I've let too many spa gift certificates go to waste and why should the Stillwater Spa get my fiance's hard earned money? So, I went to the trouble and called.

After being on hold for 9 minutes (which, when you're on hold, is a very very very long time) someone finally came to the phone. (This stresses me out too. I do not like to be on hold.)

I explained the fiance bought me a mother's day package. I was told they were booked for weeks. Which stressed me out. I do not like making appointments weeks in advance. Because I don't remember appointments made weeks in advance.

It took years, but I finally have people in my life who can fit me in THE NEXT DAY. That's right. I tip very well, and so when I call (fill in manicurist/facialist/masseuse/therapist/trainer/hairdresser) I say "Hey, it's Rebecca. Can you please, please, please fit me in tomorrow." And they always do. Even if it means they open the doors at 7 a.m for me. (They also get very nice Christmas gifts.)

Weeks to use up my gift certificate? No. I want to use my gift certificate. And I want to use it now. Thanks.

So, I said, "Well, I don't want the massage. I want a facial instead. And I don't need the lunch." The woman typed typed typed away into her computer, god knows what, but came back to the phone and said, "OK, when were you thinking of coming in?"

So I told her the truth. I told her I was thinking that I wanted to come in "tomorrow." (Meaning today.)

Type, type, type away. And, go figure, she somehow got me in for a manicure, a pedicure and a facial for today.

So, I said, thanks. And then she said, "Well, you may as well get the meal thrown in as well, because it's paid for."

So I said OK. (I'm not sure how it went from I couldn't get in for weeks, to getting in the very next day, but whatever. I'm in. The advice here is to always keep asking until they will fit you in - after they type type type away.)

And it couldn't really come at a better time. I need a pedicure. And it's not because I do yoga, which was the reason I used to get pedicures.

It's because at The Dictator's music class, we have to take off our shoes. I know. Awful. But a rule is a rule.

And I just know the other mother's are staring at my feet, because when you have to take off your shoes, that's what you do. You look at other people's feet and you think, "God, she needs a pedicure."

Anyway, I'm heading to the spa. I'm sure it won't be relaxing. But I have to do it. I have to.