During the week I try to take time out for a “me” day. Some weeks that might only be a few hours reading at the coffee shop and window shopping. Other weeks that might be a full-blown torture spa-day. This week was a mini torture spa-day involving wax, steam and Rosario. I realize this might cause some to drool and others to raise eyebrows but it isn’t what it seems.
I’m convinced that waxing was invented by a man. No sane woman would have willingly come up with such a merciless way of removing unwanted body hair. Marketing-pure genius! The more you have it done, the less grows back. How much is less? I guess I’ll just keep going until baby is bare—works for me! I mean, think about it. Women spend beaucoup bucks to have molten hot wax drizzled on tender skin, then a piece of cloth is smoothed over the wax and RRRIIIPPP! Hopefully, all skin remained intact so Anatomy 101 stays in the book. This is to keep things nice and tidy, for beauty and “just in case”.
Rosario is demon spawn incarnate, in other words my masseuse. I have a brother whose a big ‘ol boy. Not fat, but tall and broad… just like Rosario. I think she might have been a man at one time but I’m afraid to ask. I’ve wondered if she is Samoan since she has tribal tattoos on her face and arms but again, I’m afraid to ask. She has huge hands, all the better to dig into your muscles with; at which point I whine “Stop!” She responds with a deep, evil chuckle and digs in deeper. I truly believe this woman gets great pleasure from tormenting me. I suppose I could ask for someone else but I’m afraid she would start stalking me. Trying to explain a 6’ tall, 220lb tattooed Samoan woman, who may or may not have been a man stalking you…
Steam comes after the massage in hopes that it will relieve some of the stress that Rosario has just put me through. It never happens. Instead, my tension usually ratchets a few notches higher. The steam room means being exposed to other women’s junk. I’ve said it before, I’m not a prude. I’ve traveled all over the world and seen things out roaming the streets and beaches that should have stayed indoors but meh– to each their own. I’ve shown my fair share of skin in the past. But no, a hot sweaty steam room and women’s junk don’t mix. I’ll leave it at that.
My friends wax lyrical over their torture spa-days. I can’t wait to get home, draw a bubble-bath, surround myself with candles and relax. I’d love to wax lyrical too but somebody is singing off-key!