I'm A Guinea Pig

My wife has been taking a whole slew of massage therapy classes from an outfit called Somatherapy. She actually got started in this after she was doing horse massage.

Anyway, she comes home from her classes and wants to try all the things she's learned on me. You'd think this would be a win-win for me. But I've had things done to me that no non-quiche eating male would ever request.

The swedish massage was pretty nice. But the salt and sugar scrubs are pretty abrasive. Its an exfoliation thing. I've come to the conclusion that I like my foliation, thank you very much. Then there's the clay and seaweed wraps. They're both pretty much the same thing... You either get this watered down clay mixture, or a nasty goo made from some kind of seaweed painted on you. The seaweed goo smells like a tide pool at low tide on a hot day. Phew! Then you get wrapped up in a sheet and mylar. Its your own mini sweat room. I layed there for 20 minutes wondering what was going to stink more, me or the seaweed.

The herbal wrap is almost the same thing, only you're covered in sheets that have been soaked in an herbal tea concoction, then mummified in the mylar again. At least with this one I got a peppermint-aloe facial. Egads, I feel so pretty.

Last night was a real topper. She gave me some kind of hot wax treatment. She got this electric tub thing that melts the special lavendar wax. Next thing I know, she's dipping my hands and feet in it like I was some kind of scented candle. Did I mention that the wax was melted and bloody HOT? I don't know about my feet, but my hands are still smooth 'n silky.

Don't ask to shake my hand. I'm not doing that until I can build up some callouses again