Saturday, October 6, 2012

spa day


Something hubby and I like to splurge on is massage, specifically couples massage.  Just as it sounds, couples massages are body kneading treatments that happen while laying in side-by-side beds in the same dimly lit room.

We have had massages outside on a sunny day and inside during a blizzard.  I've lost count of how many spas we've been to in the three states we've lived in, but each one had its own flair.  The first couples massage we ever booked was at a luxury hotel in Los Angeles.  They had us wear disposable underwear (!?) and lay face down as our therapists worked our muscles like silly putty.  Our masseuses were short, stocky, Asian women who, at one point, climbed on top of our backs and dug in to our shoulder blades with their knees (!?).

Last Monday we went to a spa in town called Q's Spa.  It's owned by a lovely woman named Q, who is petite, yet gives a hardy massage (she gave me mine).  We started our visit with a tour of the facility, then were shown to our room where we changed in to white terry cloth bathrobes and slippers.  Before the massage, we had a second room all to ourselves, with a display of grapes and strawberries, crackers, wine, and assorted chocolates.  The steam closet was only a few paces away, so we alternated between the snack table and the room set to 98 degrees with 3000 percent humidity.  Aside from dodging the hot water dripping from the ceiling, it was pleasant.  Take-your-breath-away-while-sweating-out-toxins pleasant.

Our massages were the highlight of our visit.  We each had our own therapist who did well to work out the kinks with their hands and elbows.  While they kept their feet on the ground, their use of hot stones sent me to La La Land in no time.

After every treatment like this, I am reminded of what butter must feel like slowly melting on top of a Belgian waffle dressed in vanilla cream resting on top of rainbows and cotton candy clouds.

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