Thursday, October 26, 2006

The Thrifty Girl's Spa

Please forgive Pretty Lady's blissed-out silence. She spent the whole of yesterday in Sinful Abandon. Lacking the resources to book a day at Bliss (although she hears tell that they have gift certificates, hint, hint), she emailed a number of similarly stressed-out and impoverished girlfriends, and we all descended upon the exotic Russian Turkish Baths on the Lower East Side. So Olde Worlde! So brusque, the fellow at the desk, with the lock-boxes! (They do not take payment in advance; they simply hold your wallet hostage while you are nude and defenseless, and charge you for all the scrubbings afterward.) So primitive, the facilities! They have been there, it seems, well over one hundred years. So Pretty Lady's Spa Day may take on historical significance.

Wednesdays, as well, are Women-Only days, which added to the party atmosphere. No wimpy, sensitive gentlemen were around to complain when we added peppermint oil to the steam jet, coated the sinks and floors with sea-salt, almond oil and deep-conditioners, and freely discussed bikini waxing, while doing sauna-yoga in the nude.

It has been Pretty Lady's frequent observation, during her years at women-only bathhouses, that females who appear most lumpy and awkward in clothing are the most glorious without it. Those little coat-hanger clothes-horses show to scrawny disadvantage while bathing; it is the odd, gnome-like women who appear as Earth Goddesses in their altogether. Or so she sees it, from a purely aesthetic perspective. Any other perspective is a closed book to her, despite the most strenuous urgings of her wannabe-sex-radical boyfriends.

Later, of course, it was Sushi. Sushi is the only acceptable post-sauna repast, in Pretty Lady's opinion. So clean, so nourishing, so free of extraneous sticky grease. After that, trolling the Lower East Side funky-clothing basement shops, winter-boot shopping, and chai tea on the couch at the Himalayan café. Pretty Lady scored an uneven-hemline, gypsy-Goth white lace skirt at bargain basement prices.

Now back to our regularly scheduled drudgery. Sigh.

13 comments:

Anonymous said...

"Wednesdays, as well, are Women-Only days"

Would it be gauche to ask if they have a men-only day?

k said...

Just a perfect day,
Problems all left alone...
>>Lou Reed

prettylady said...

Would it be gauche to ask if they have a men-only day?

Of course they do. I believe it is on the week-end. The assumption being, of course, that men work during the week, and women lounge around on weekdays, scrubbing themselves.

I told you it was Olde Worlde.

danonymous said...

Did you get the oak leaf scrub from the 250 lb babushka?

friend o' PL said...

I got the dead sea salt scrub from said babushka and it was the perfect combination of torture and pleasure. And now I'm smooth as a baby's bottom. I could get hooked on that stuff.

prettylady said...

I was not sufficiently brave to attempt either the salt or the oak leaves. Perhaps another day.

Bob said...

Fascinating to watch....

As you slowly slip closer to the edge.

prettylady said...

The edge of what? Integration? Is this a bad thing?

Bob said...

Integration? lol...

... the edge where you actually start believing all the fluff you write.

prettylady said...

Bob, please drop the psychology book, and slowly back away from the edge.

Bob said...

LOL...don't need a psychology book for that sort of observation...

"a high-ranking officer in the timeless and international War On Kitsch"

Really good stuff there PL, but I just can't imagine you out there on the front lines, battling against the crass amusements of the lowbrow masses.

That would be way too tasteless.

prettylady said...

Ah, Bob, there are ways, and there are other ways, of fighting one's battles. Masculine warfare is generally direct and antagonistic. Feminine warfare is more subtle, and in its best form can focus upon nurturing the Higher Good.

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