Why? Because... here we are in Phoenix! My glorious and generous parents have taken us to this fabulous extravaganza to shop, spa and spring train.
My ordering of that list might differ from my family.
My mother booked herself and me massages this afternoon, so as soon as we arrived, she and I headed past the pool cabanas and Lilly shops and settled into the spa. Knowing me well, my mom requested we both have female massage professionals.
My masseuse was a very friendly and direct middle aged and stocky woman, which I regard as ideal in this situation. I feel like I always end up disrobing in front of a supermodel and it just makes me self-conscious. But this gal was all gruff business.
"I'm stepping out of the room for a moment. Robe off, face down."
"I'm going to steam your feet."
"You want me to work on your glutes?"
At this, I panicked. Do I WANT you to touch my BUTT? I don't know that 'want' is the appropriate word, but if that's part of the "Hands of Healing Massage" and will serve to "balance the mind, body and spirit" then so be it.
"Um, sure." I responded, face-down mumbling through the massage-table face-donut.
It is my understanding (primarily from television) that some people can completely zone out and forget where they are during massages. This afternoon's was a pretty fantastic massage. But I was still wide awake and nervous for the entire experience. There are to many components: nudity, bodies, touching, underpants, etc. that make me wildly uncomfortable. I like the fancy robe, sure. The free tea is nice. The flip flops are always too small for me, but that's okay. I liked the five (count 'em, 5!) salon-size body scrubs and washes to play with in the shower.
But I had to change with my mother and a collection of old ladies. Naked. Nude. Buff. A stranger spent an eternity rubbing aromatherapy lotion on my butt cheeks, and called them "glutes." And I felt like we shared this intimate moment and our goodbye in the locker room was really awkward. I worried about it the whole way from the massage room back, just knowing that my naked-panic would result in a fumbled thank-you.
I feel the only way to get over this ridiculous discomfort is to get massages all the time. Maybe some scrubs. And body wraps. And whatever the hell a caviar pedicure is.
Anyway, drinks and dinner tonight, followed by my mom and brother going to a baseball game tomorrow. Me and my dad? We'll go to a game on Sunday.
Tomorrow, we sit by the pool and read. And then we go back to the Lilly store and wonder how this will go over in San Francisco...