So Near, No Spa

I have been looking forward to tomorrow since December. Grandy had bestowed a spa day on me and my sister as our Christmas present. Work schedules, distance and babysitting had made the orchestration complicated, but it was booked. I’d got my eyebrows and lashes sorted to withstand a day of water, steam and excessive lounging sans make-up. I’d scoured my feet to make them worthy of further pampering (because no beauty therapist deserves to endure my manky trotters in the usual state!).

And then, with my bag packed and my exit strategy planned, my sister called…the venue had had an extreme electrical fault – they were having to cancel!!!

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Funnily enough, Teflon Man’s not sad about having avoided a night of parental responsibility. My dad’s not sad that he doesn’t have to babysit a perkier, but still whiny Noodles. Noodles has subsequently reattached himself to my lap, so is also happier that he’ll get to disrupt my sleep rather than his dad’s tonight.

We can re-schedule, but it’s still devastating to get so near and no spa. To prevent utter despair I’ve tried to switch my thinking round.

Who wants five Babor treatments, access to spa facilities and champagne afternoon tea anyway? 

  
The positives of a spa-free day:

1) I’m not going to have to expose my post-Easter body to strangers.

It’s March, my flesh is flabby and pale. My brows might be spa-ready, but my thighs, stomach and backside are not. After gorging on Easter chocolate I’d have to inhale all day so as not to be mistakenly offered maternity treatments. 

I can get in shape by June though, right? 

In which case, bring on more chocolate!!!

Never mind not having a 45-minute massage. Or a 30-minute facial followed by a pedicure.  

  

2) Any stress only returns on the journey home anyway.  The A17 is a bastard of a road with or without a massage as motivation. I may as well be grateful that I get to maintain the status quo of stress levels without leaving my sofa.

That’s got to be better than a 15-minute scalp massage and salt body peel, right? And reheated Chinese takeaway will hit the same spot as champagne afternoon tea. Hmmmm.

  


3) Instead of sitting and steaming and lounging in a fluffy robe I can get stuff done. I can still wear a fluffy robe, but do the washing, tidying, holiday packing, revising. Less indulgence tomorrow equals less headless chicken action on Wednesday.

Yep, definitely better than the agonies of the use of a spa cave. I don’t need to be lying around on hot rocks loungers or making use of ice and steam rooms. *Sigh*

  

Or, more likely, I’ll be child wrangling, feeding, mopping, answering random and extremely difficult questions on the works of Jacqueline Wilson. If I’m wearing a fluffy robe at lunchtime it’ll be because I’ve not had a chance to get dressed! And I’ll still be a headless chicken on Wednesday!

Who wants a spa day anyway?  Me! I want a spa day! I want my five treatments, champagne and dinky sandwiches and to sit in a spa cave!!! So unless you’re bearing aromatherapy oils and a glass of complimentary prosecco tomorrow, approach with caution. Chances are I’ll be steaming, but not in the way I’d hoped.

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