May 30th, 2015
It was time for a girl date. After very minimal back and forth, my friend and I decided a lounge-around-the-pool day was the perfect thing. So we began our Saturday at the Rancho Bernardo Inn with high hopes and prodigious amounts of Us Weeklys. Soon enough, we learned our day passes wouldn’t grant us access to the sauna and relaxation room, so the more proactive among us (not I) demanded refunds and suggested we go to a Korean day spa instead.
I’d heard of the day spa before, in epic retellings that involved tales of nudity and pressure-point probing that rivaled the most handsy deep-tissue massagers, but until girl-date-day, I wasn’t sure I could handle it.
I’m pretty conservative (Midwest upbringing) and fairly prone to embarrassed giggling when I see friends naked, but in keeping with my “SEIZE THE DAY!” mentality generated by an ongoing midlife crisis, I agreed to the Korean day spa experience.
And it was indeed epic.
Within about three minutes of entering the spa facilities, I decided to just be naked and forget about it. I did briefly rethink that strategy after glimpsing the tight butt and amazing supple build of a more youthful spa visitor, but recommitted to my boobs on the floor and butt trailing behind soon after.
My friend and I traipsed between dry spa and wet spa, hot tub, and cool-pool dip. The wet spa housed an exceptionally impolite visitor who spread herself across the floor flanked by a cup and a towel and about 40,000 other accoutrements tossed about her person, but she left in a huff when she realized other people existed in the world and those people wanted to use the wet spa.
Pretty soon, I was all in. Going from thing to thing, happily flouncing all my pieces and letting them flap in the wind. The red clay immersion room saw me letting it all hang out on a bamboo mat, and you could barely get me to put on a robe even in the locker room.
Then, the spa-treatment-administrator called my number, and scooted me out to a table next to about four other tables located in the common area. My clinician instructed me to lie down and without fanfare, began to scrub me head to toe with much robustness.
I couldn’t believe how much of everything she exfoliated. The attention to my nooks and crannies was impressive. At one point, lying face up, I did try to at least close my naked legs because what was staring up at the masseuese’s face seemed…excessive… but she promptly re-opened my thighs and resumed her tactical assault on all things my skin.
That went on for awhile.
After about 25 minutes, she shouted, “get up!” and squirted some pink liquid in my open palms. “Now go shower!”
I met my friend at the showers.
“Abledeedabbleydoo?” I whispered.
She rubbed the pink liquid all over her face like a pro. “Wash your face. Next, you get a massage…”
My gasp of pleased surprise interrupted her.
…”and a cucumber facial…”
I gasped again.
“…And then they wash your hair…”
What was this pleasure palace of bodily treats and militant spa technicians?
I glided back to my treatment table just sitting there in the middle of everyone, everywhere and attempted a smile at my treatment-giver.
She seemed…ready to massage.
I did, and the most deep-tissue massage in the history of deep tissues followed. There was oil, and buckets of warm water, and hot towels, and I don’t even know what else used in the administration of this massage.
Then, I heard chopping. For a brief second, I thought maybe this was an elaborate snuff film set-up? I don’t know – naked, do-this-do-that, weird lighting, and obvious hatchet sounds?
But soon enough, the origin of the chopping was placed brusquely upon my face: cucumbers. FRESH CUCUMBERS WERE GRATED AND PUT ON MY FACE.
What is this place of wonders?
Then, more pails. More towels. More oils. More rough-touching that felt amazing.
And finally, shampoo worked into my hair like if Stalin himself were to do it.
Rub, rub, rub, knead, knead, knead, pound, pound, pound, who-needs-a-skull-anyway.
And a warm water rinse.
And: “GET UP!”
So of course, I did. Because cucumber hatchet.
Once again, liquid was poured into my open palms.
“Put it on your face!”
I splashed it onto my skin. Milk.
She seemed pleased and so poured a pitcher of warm milk all over my person. Then, it was over.
Like last time, I met my friend at the showers.
And this time, my gobbledygook made it out of my mouth in a whole sentence.
“What just happened?”
Best girl date ever.