This week has been vacation week for David, which means it was vacation week for me, too, because it can be. So after the San Diego Zoo came a day of organizing David (complete with an IKEA trip), a picnic in Griffith Park with friends and a visit to the Griffith Observatory’s planetarium, and then yesterday, the grand finale: a morning at the spa. I had never been to a spa, so the protocol was all new and interesting to me. Since most of it was spent either facedown in the toilet-seat-like head rest of the massage table or with things laid over my eyes, I have to theorize about a lot of it. But here’s how it went:

1. First, they sent me to a Zenned out locker room to change into a karate uniform. It tied in the front, so it was more like a karate-peep-show outfit, I guess.

2. Next, I was led to the garden, where my therapist put my feet in a tepid soup with flowers floating on top. She added salt. Once my feet were sufficiently brothed, she put lotion all over them. Then she washed it off in the soup. I was directed to drink tea.

3. My therapist led me to the room where my massage would occur. She directed me to whisper. She instructed me to disrobe and put my head on the aforementioned toilet seat while she stepped out of the room.

4. She returned and laid something hot on my back. Judging by the weight of it, I debated whether it was a hot bag of flour or a freshly cooked whole piglet.

5. She did some crazy pinning-back of my hair, which I had to try not to fixate on, because I knew it must look BAD. Then she got to work kneading my shoulders and back. The determination in her hands made me think of army boot camp. This made me feel vulnerable. She told me I had nice skin and muscle tone. This made me feel even more vulnerable. I realized it was possible she could kill me with one snap of her crazy, determined hands.

6. She instructed me to turn over. For a brief second, I saw the dimly lit room with its candle shrine and soothing tones of adobe paint. She was quick, however, to snap some cottony stuff over my eyes with an elastic band. I suspect she didn’t want me to see what she kept in that toolbelt strapped to her waist.

7. At one point, I realized that the instrumental song that had just come on the new-age CD was actually a riff off “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.”

8. After some more rubbing, the stretching began. She took my arm and walked all around the room with it. She did it to my other arm, and to my legs. She tied my arms in a knot. She tied my legs in a knot. She yanked on everything. At one point, I could tell she had climbed on the table. It wasn’t painful, but even if it had been, I doubt she would have heard my voice from inside the table’s dry swirlie.

8. Once the massaging was over, she got out the liquid sand-paper and scrubbed and scrubbed. Then she used hot towels to beat the scrub off my skin. Then she made my skin gross again with oil.

9. Finally, she laid two slimy cold jellyfish over my eyes and instructed me to relax. She sprayed something lavender-patchouli-like into the fan. My nasal passages responded by twitching uncontrollably.

10. Here she left the room. I was alone with the jellyfish. I had to pee SO BAD.

11. Finally, after a loooong time, she returned to remove the jellyfish. She was quick to slip them out of sight. She led me by the hand back to the garden.

This was the conclusion of my spa experience. It was interesting. I guess it was relaxing. I’d say it was fun. The place we went to was lovely, the staff, professional. I don’t recommend the eye treatment. Or at least, pee first before the massage starts.