Gentlemen: if you think that it would be a great idea to give your wife or girlfriend a certificate for a day at a spa, here’s some advice. Ask her which spa she’d prefer, first. Didn’t happen in my case, which is how it was that I ended up in a spa that caters to up and coming starlets who openly enjoy parading in the nude.
I knew I was in trouble when I arrived and they handed me a terrycloth bathrobe that was cut too small to close in the front. Holding a supplemental towel in front of me, for modesty’s sake, I made it all the way from the dressing rooms and into the main spa area, where all ages (and by that, I mean from 18-35) were draped over lounge chairs, reading magazines in the waiting room, marinating in hot spas and par-broiling in saunas, each and every one in their well-tailored birthday suits.
Somehow, I made it through the experience without too much psychic damage. The problem is, Dan had not only bought me one spa day, but two. I thought of asking for a refund, but one of the perks of age is being able to go into uncomfortable circumstances and have enough aplomb to get what one needs without giving a hoot about what others think.
So last week, I used my second spa day, equipped with my own supplies: my own terrycloth robe, a bathing suit for the spa and most important of all: enough attitude to spare. Priceless moment: one of the picture-perfect 30-somethings looking upon me with obvious envy. “What a great idea!” she said, eyeing my bathing suit. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
Carol Orsborn