flightless hag

A chronicle of the adventures of birdwoman: a lonely, talentless freak who wanders the internet in search of entertainment.

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Location: Philly

I'm a 40-something married white female, survivor of weight watchers, avid reader of pulp. Dogs (not cats), extreme right (handed, not politics), ENTJ, alto, wanna-be knitter.

June 01, 2005

Don’t Touch!

OK, so I’m not a virgin anymore.

I got my first massage on Saturday.

A girlfriend of mine and I went for a day of “pampering” at a spa. The last time I did something like this was just before the Moth was born. I had a manicure, and a pedicure, and a really good haircut. Nothing like looking down at pretty red toenails in stirrups… no, we won’t go there.

This time, we went with a package deal: manicure, pedicure, hairdo, facial, and massage. According to my facial chick, my skin shows that I have irritable bowel syndrome, or some other silliness (I just agreed with “amazement” at how she could know that!) The hair, feet, and hands were all nice (bonus points when they let you sit in a Sharper Image chair while doing the foot thing!)

But the crowning point is the massage.

I’m a prude! Surprised?

I associate getting nekkid with 1) my husband and some Al Green tunes, or, 2) the doctor’s office (see stirrups, above).

I really, really didn’t like wandering around a spa in someone else’s robe, tossing it off hither and yon so people could put their paws all over my bare back and clavicle. Just something… oh, I don’t know… icky about the whole thing.

Won't be doing it again, any time soon!



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