After a week of gruelling tests (definitely a post on that later) I have been a tad cranky. Today especially. Then a good friend of mine sent me a link to a review she’s just written about a beauty spa in South Africa. It made me laugh. Especially the bit about the breasts smothering you – I’ve had that one a couple of times.
It did, however, remind me of the time that I went for my very first facial. Another close friend, Diane, had bought me a facial as a birthday present. She had been utterly horrified when she’d heard that I’d never, ever bothered to get one and I was (cue fainting) nearly 30 at the time. It was with a lot of excitement that I beetled off to Fourways Mall for my first facial, ever.
I sauntered in. It wouldn’t DO to look gauche. I was ushered through to a quiet room that smelled heavenly and that oozed an atmosphere of soft light and nice things. The lovely lady doing my facial bustled in, wrapped my face in a hot towel and…bustled out. I was enjoying it. It was lovely.
I am ok with pipe music actually. Not so much whales but pipes are fine. Then again, I’ve always had an abysmal taste in music…
Anyway after a bit she came in to massage my face and rub oils in and wipe things off and all those other facial-style rituals that relax and soothe the tired mind. Except that when she gave me the intermittent massage, or rubbed lotions into my neck and shoulders, she would, ahem, run her hands down to my breasts (noombies, tatas, love pillows, etc) and massage them on the way back.
The first time it happened my entire brain went into Red Alert, “Warning, unauthorised access! Warning, unauthorised access!”
I stiffened. Was this supposed to happen?
I can remember the entire facial as if it was yesterday. I didn’t want to say anything because I was worried I was being an idiot and that this was, actually, the proper procedure. I tend to over-analyse things so my brain was rapidly churning out possible reasons for this development. All of them saying, “Tamsin, sshh, if you say anything she will think you are an idiot.”
And every time her hands moved down I could feel my entire body go rigid in dismay. Then it got too late to say anything. I mean, she’d been fondling my breasts on and off for twenty minutes already. If I said anything now, well, then I would offend her! So, I walked out of that room tenser than I have ever been in my life.
I immediately called Diane.
“Thanks so much for the facial, honey,” I said, possibly lying just a little bit.
“Ohhh, Dahlink!” she said, “Was it fabulous?”
I attempted casual, “I am not sure about the breast massage but my skin feels amazing.”
“WHAT BREAST MASSAGE?” she screamed down the phone, “Did you go to the right place?”
I swear she nearly caused herself an internal injury when she got the story out of me. I have never heard anyone laugh that hard before.
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