what luxury

I went to a salon today.

Not the hairdressers, where I occasionally go for a fringe remedy (the cut you have after you've trimmed your own fringe. Badly.)

A beauty salon. 

Adam bought me a 'treatment' for my birthday last year in December, and the voucher expired last month before I got around to going. Hopeless. I rang them, they agreed to honour it if I came today. 

I wafted in. They'd told me to allow at least two and a half hours. Swoon. 

I stripped down to my undies in a quiet, dimly lit and biegely decorated room, as instructed by my young and perfectly made up therapist with perfectly manicured red toes (I hope she doesn't look at mine.)

I wasn't quite clear what the 'treatment' package Adam had ordered involved, but it appeared to start with a massage which was lovely. I'd gone to the trouble to shave my legs so as not to frighten anyone, and was glad I did. 

There wasn't much talking and there was some lovely mood music which sent me off to a little brief sleep which I woke myself up from with a reasonably loud nasal snore. Not at all embarrasing. 

The therapist didn't comment, and moved silently around the quite dark room. So much so that I thought I'd ask some polite questions, is this your own business? etc right when she was leaning over me from behind my head, about to apply lotion to my decolletage, gave her quite a start.

She covered me in something that felt tacky and asked me if I was claustrophobic. No, I answered, a bit confused. She proceeded to wrap me up in plastic and foil and mink blankets. And then asked me to close my eyes and slicked them shut with something very cold and mask-like. 

I moved my feet, checking I could, and my heel made a fart noise on the therapy table. I did it again, just in case she thought I'd farted. Then I wondered if she thought I'd farted twice. 

Soon after she unwrapped me and waved me into a pretty little shower in the corner. I looked down and I was covered in green mud. Her instructions were to wash it off and she'd be back in fifteen. I dropped the towel I had clutched around me and stood in my undies to turn on the water.  I tried to figure out the hot and cold, there were a number of knobs including something that was for piped music. I looked in the dim light and there appeared to be jets of water coming straight out of the shower onto me and all over the floor. I shut off one button and the water came down from above instead. Took off sopping wet undies and attempted to get mud off. Hurt my shoulder trying to reach the middle of my back. I am seriously the coolest person ever. I was thinking this as I looked folornly at the water all over the floor afterwards. 

I put my wet undies back on. Then took them off. Found a cape thing in a basket and put it on. Lay back down on the table and prepared myself to confess to the perfectly pedicured therapist. Also did not want her to discover my lack of undies accidentally. Started to wonder what else was on Adam's treatment schedule. If he booked me in for a cheeky Brazilian he's going to cop it. 

Back she came and was pretty understanding. She had some issues undoing the cape to apply a moisuriser as I appeared to have put it on back to front. 

She suggested I roll over (it was here I was wondering if there was hot wax being warmed somewhere) and I promptly rolled off the table. 

Right off it.

After collecting myself and the tiny tiny remnants of my dignity, the therapist began a facial. Which was lovely. After a bit she told me to close my eyes and began painting my eyelashes and I got the giggles. Not wanting to offend her I tried to think of sad things. She began painting my eyebrows. Sad things sad things sad things.

All good things come to an end, don't they. 

A lovely massage, a body wrap, a facial. What a treat. Thanks, honey.

She left me to get dressed which I had to do sans undies of course, but I had leggings so all OK. 'Cept I could not find a sock. I looked all over the dark room, it was a black sock, Adam's actually, I thought: I don't want her to find my daggy black sock when she cleans up.

Oh well. Blundstones on, one foot sockless. 

If I had any hope she hadn't told her colleagues about the hopeless case in the far right therapy room, the desperately sympathetic look the receptionist gave me ended that hope.

They took my voucher and sent me on my way. 

Postcript: I found the sock. It was in my handbag under my wet undies. It was also only when I got all the way home that I discovered the inside of both nostrils were completely white. I am seriously the most attractive and coolest person on earth. 


P.P.S Thanks for the great response to the giveaway, I'll draw it tomorrow night.

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