losing it...in translation

I've had a case of the Mondays since, well, Monday. But then the Mondays turned into Tuesdays which just doesn't have the same ring to it, so, I decided that the only thing for it was a trip to the spa. That's right, when I'm not half in the bag on Morning Margaritas, eating caramel chews out of huge red foil heart shaped chocolate boxes and doing a tipsy Fandango in my baby pink negligee with matching heeled slippers trimmed with pink feathers, I am at the spa. So, having been tipped off by a very "about town" friend, that a nearby spa was having a special offer on massages and facials. And of course, one can't turn down a spa special offer because we all know that when things are on special offer, we are actually SAVING money by purchasing them. So, off to save money I went, feeling positively philanthropic.

Now, there are a few quirks one has to get used to at a spa in China. First off, they are big on getting you to shower which I feel is kinda gross (hate putting my bare feet on anything that I think other, strange feet have touched) and a pain in the ass. But, in the interest of not appearing to be a filthy beast from the west, I acquiesce and besides, trying to communicate my aversion to naked feet and annoyance at getting wet midday to a woman who kept calling me "maki" just seemed exhaustingly pointless.

As if the whole shower obsession wasn't enough, when they aren't trying to get you to shower, they are insisting that you remove your perfectly good underpants and replace them with their awkward, pokey, papery, hospital-looking pants. This brings me to odd aversion number two: taking off my underpants midday. If I have a pair of pants on, fine, but if I take them off and then put the same underpants back on again, it's like I'm wearing dirty laundry, which is GROSS. I think you will agree the logic on this is irrefutable.

Anyhow, I'm digressing because my whole point here isn't that I am oddly phobic but that when I get a massage anywhere in China, I can't fully relax because I keep thinking that all the masseuse is thinking is, "I can't believe that I am massaging a human Manatee". OK, so the point clearly is that I am phobic, but let's put that aside for a moment. And before you think that I am imagining the whole thing, believe me that I speak from experience as I have had numerous massages where the masseuse spends the first few minutes of the massage palpating me like I was a hog being readied for slaughter, murmuring in a bemused manner as they pinch my haunches and poke my backside and in some particularly humiliating instances, they call over their masseuse friends to see the whale that washed up on their table.

Today at the spa, I knew that my, erm, shapeliness was going to be more of an issue than usual when I was provided with a robe, slippers and, of course, paper underpants. The robe barely closed so as I tried to lounge nonchalantly in the "holding pen" prior to my massage, I looked more like a porn star waiting to be called on set than a stay at home mom waiting to get a facial. The slippers barely fit with my toes spilling out the front and my heels dragging on the ground as I flapped around. However, the paper pants were the most humiliating part of the ensemble by far.

I was alone in the change room, so I thought that I would give them a go. I put my feet in and went to pull them up but realised that it wasn't going to work when they came to a screeching halt somewhere south of my knee caps. Of course, this was the moment that my designated "spa hostess" chose to come in to check on me only to find me in a most compromising position. I tried to push the offending pants down with one hand whilst the other hand was used to clutch the straining sides of my robe together in an effort to corral "the girls" and cover up at least the most offending parts of my nudity. The result was less than dignified and I am sure that the hostess is, as we speak, regaling her pint-sized, whippet-thin family with stories of the western behemoth, with unruly breasts and a bottom the size of the family car. Needless to say, I gave up on the pants.