Today I went for a massage, a one hour long massage. For a moment or two, I thought I had died amidst the chirping birds and waterfall sounds and gone to heaven. I didn’t want to leave.
I want to live at the spa.
Some people hate the thought of having a stranger rub out their knotted muscles and touch their flesh. Not me.
I just close my eyes and enjoy.
I’ve been saving the gift card my kids gave me for mother’s day, waiting for the perfect time to use it. Today was the perfect day. It was raining, my muscles were tied up in knots that rivaled the skills of any boy scout, and I had a headache.
Don’t get the wrong idea, I’m not a ‘spaster’. My last massage was several years ago when I went through a battle with some muscular and neurological problems. I was treated to several medical type massages that hurt more than they relaxed.
Today I came home so relaxed that I didn’t even mind that my giant FringePup had pushed my couch cushions down and fell asleep.
She acts like she lives at the spa.
She’s not allowed to get a massage because shaving your legs is a requirement. What massage therapist wants to rub down a furry leg?
FringePup refuses to shave.
She’s waiting to be invited to a ‘hairy leg’ party.
Have you ever been to one of those?
I’ve never thrown a hairy leg party. I wouldn’t do such a tacky thing and I definitely wouldn’t give a prize for the hairiest legs.
No, I’ve never sat around my living room floor with a bunch of friends wrapping our legs in saran-wrap. Community leg shaving is bizarre, especially when you are six months pregnant. Not that I’m speaking from experience or anything.
I definitely don’t have any friends that were hiding braidable hair underneath their cowgirl boots. I’m not that kind of girl.
Right now I’m the kind of girl that is so relaxed she fell asleep on the couch next FringePup.
Life is good.