Monday, 22 September 2008

A weekend at the spa

As I mentioned briefly on Friday, as a belated birthday present from my mum, me and the boyfriend were treated to a weekend at a health spa. Off we sped down to Surrey on Saturday morning after securing a good deal with the reservations team. "Well, thing is," I'd told the guy on the phone earlier in the week, "I love the sound of this place, but it's my mum who's paying, and I'm not sure she'll really go for £465 per person. I was thinking, well, considerably less than that...and anything else you could chuck in to sway her, it's mine and my boyfriend's birthdays you see..."
 
So having been downgraded in price and upgraded to a suite, including use of a VIP treatment room so we could have our complimentary massages at the same time, the weekend was set. The grounds were beautiful, the room was huge, as was the bathroom and nice smelling freebies dotted around the bathroom were plentiful. We chilled, played tennis, swam outside and in, even a spot of croquet on the lawn (I won). Finally, at 12pm on Sunday, it was time for our massage.
 
After a few minutes, a petite blond woman emerged in the waiting area. "Joanna and Boyfriend?" she called. Smiling, we got up and walked towards her. It was at that point that a large, hairy man also appeared. "Boyfriend? I'm Pete. If you'd like to follow me". Now if I could describe the look that passed over the boyfriend's face at that moment, I would say imagine that wide eyed look of someone who just came home and discovered their cat had morphed into a massive, hairy lion. Then imagine the lion attempts to engage you in polite, pseudo manly conversation, skirting around the fact that those hairy paws are about to be oiled up and rubbed all over your back.
 
As soon as the two therapists left us in the treatment room to undress, the boyfriend shot me a worried look. "How come you get her and I get a big hairy fat man?" and then, "He said get undressed. Do I have to get naked?"
 
And with that, the therapists were back in the room ready to begin the half hour assault on our back, neck and shoulder muscles. I couldn't help but grin into my headrest when my boyfriend's masseuse told him to 'just say if the pressure's too hard'. Needless to say, in the interests of asserting his masculinity, my boyfriend chose not to speak up and when we were left alone again half an hour later, delivered his verdict.
 
"It, err, kind of hurt." he said, rolling his shoulders
"So why didn't you say something like he told you to?"
"Well I didn't want to hurt his feelings. He was a big hairy fat man, I was half naked, things were already a bit awkward. Anyway, it was fine until he put his whole arm across my back and I could feel all the hairs"
 
Mmm, nice. Talk about putting the treat into treatment...

5 comments:

The Unbearable Banishment said...

Anytime I get a massage, I absolutely INSIST on a girl-masseuse. It’s as close as I can get to having another woman touch me and not have it result in divorce proceedings. Think I’m going to pass up an opportunity like that? Not bloody likely.

Please Don't Eat With Your Mouth Open said...

I know, I think normally they'd give a woman. But with it being a joint treatment room, they probably thought it would be weird for me to have another woman massaging my boyfriend. Although it was slightly weirder having a man!

weenie said...

If it was the fit woman masssaging your bf, then you could have insisted on a fit bloke massaging you, not the bear guy though!

theperpetualspiral said...

I much prefer a man masseuse to a woman. At first I thought I wouldn't, but once I got over the naked touching situation, I realised that a man masseuse has got the strength to get the knots out of my back, whereas sadly a woman doesn't.

AFC 30K said...

Did you go to Pennyhill Park? If so I went too... loved it so much Wifey and I went back twice so far..

 

Blog Template by YummyLolly.com - RSS icons by ComingUpForAir