Take It Easy

Wilma cashed in her mother's day prezzie {thanx much, DemonSpawn, for being my irritating, furry demonic child} & got an hour long massage today. It was a wonderful, relaxing hour.

Normally when I go for any sort of "spa" treatment ~ pedicure, massage, waxing ~ I chat up a storm with the esthetician, stopping only to take a breath. I strive to be my most charming, my most witty, my most entertaining during these situations. For some reason, mayhaps my lower class up-bringing, I have a really hard time having somebody "serve" me.

I have always maintained that you can tell a lot about someone's true nature by how they treat those in the service industry. I chat with tellers, wait staff, bus boys, bartenders, the hotel concierge, cab drivers. I went out of my way to make the security girl guarding the washroom at The Cult concert laugh, telling her a joke every time I went in. {This was no easy feat, as I currently estimate my bladder to be the size of a candle wick & made frequent trips.} I try to assuage my guilt at having somebody serve me by ingratiating myself to them, in fact, going over-board in my attempts to befriend those around me.

This time, I let my guilt take a holiday. I just shut up & lay there & enjoyed it. It has been quite some time since I has a massage {months & months ago} & I needed all the concentration I had in me to remain relaxed. I don't think she really cared. I'm sure she was happy to just get in, do her job, & get out.

Small talk is exhausting.