Wrap Party

I never was a tomboy, but I am nonetheless deficient in many traits common to my gender. I seemingly lack the fashionista gene, as well as the one that inspires home decorating. I have never had a pedicure. The notion of pampering myself is alien to me.

Could I relax during a two-day getaway? If I could not join my buddies on the ski slopes, should I just stay home? I suppose I could walk down to the lake, or read a book. I could ... try some spa services. (Seriously?)

Day One: Alone in the swirling hot mist of the steam room, it was hard to breathe, at first. Water condensed on my skin, and every other surface; droplets rained down from the ceiling. It was glorious! My skin was already softer, and this was just the warm-up. I moved on to a full-body treatment, exfoliated head-to-toe with ground grape seeds, slathered with a mixture of aloe and seaweed that felt like molten honey, wrapped up in plastic and layered with blankets. After rinsing off the green goo, the finishing touch was a nice botanical lotion.

Having spent the day doing nothing, more or less, I was ready for bed. Score one for relaxation.

Day Two: My first-ever facial. Call me a skeptic. The descriptions of the procedures always read like a mix of faux science and new-age hocus pocus. My skin was still supple from the steam room. Products were applied, to sting and to soothe. More steam, warm towels, cool towels. The finishing touch? A slick moisturizing lotion.

Facing myself in the mirror, I had to admit it: some all-too-familiar sunspots were, indeed, lighter. Score one for skin care.

Maybe there is something to this pampering stuff, after all.