On Tuesday, I spent hours at the spa. I'm not exaggerating that- I really did. I got a massage and a facial and pedicure and manicure. The stuff that rich people do when things just get a little too stressful. I didn't take any pictures because that seemed odd and inappropriate. You're going to have to take my word for it that I was there.
I want to tell you that I felt weird. I want to fain that I am not a "spa person" because being someone who enjoys pampering makes you sound snobbish and entitled and high-maintenance. I want this blog post to be all about how I was so uncomfortable but after a while was able to let it all go, but only at the end and in respect for the dear friends who gave me the spa day as a baby shower gift.
But that's not the truth.
The truth is, I LOVE being pampered.
I have no problem jumping on a massage table and letting someone who knows what they're doing take pressure off of my sciatic nerve. I was totally relaxed during my facial (although, I did get a bit hot toward the end) and was perfectly fine with having a complete stranger paint my face with different citrus and eucalyptus smelling concoctions. Hell, I was even fine with her doing "extractions" which I found out is a fancy word for popping my zits nicely.
I was totally relaxed during my pedicure and giddy when I saw my pretty french-tipped toes. I couldn't stop looking at nail polish colors, and even though I settled on a boring nude, my freshly manicured hands made me feel like a new person. I could have stayed in that spa for a year. Because I'm a spa person.
Here's the best part: my sweet, sweet friends and family? The ones who all pitched in to get me such an elaborate gift? They know this about me. And they love me and they don't think I'm snobbish or entitled or high-maintenance. They just know me. They know who I am. They love who I am and thought I deserved something I would love doing. It makes me teary eyed thinking about it.
How lucky am I?