I have princess feet!

It’s true. My feet, if you could see them, are downright royal.

My bosses treated we office ladies to a spa day (yes, we are spoiled absolutely rotten), and so Debbie, Erin and I spent yesterday morning at the Chrysalis Spa as the warm and cozy recipients of pedicures and facials. I had never been to a spa before, never had a pedicure nor a facial, and so I positively melted.

Or not quite. Not at first.

My brain is on “constant chatter” mode these days, and it did not help that the night before our spa trip I got into a rousing philosophical discussion with my friend Paul. This discussion was fueled by a few glasses of wine, and by the time I made it home my head was all full of ideas–some of them swam peacably around my brain like little goldfish. That is the normal state of things: goldfish. Others of these ideas were downright vicious, like pirahnas, and these mean ideas attacked the pretty, gold ones, and there were scales and fins and fishy-idea carnage everywhere…

I’m sorry to get off-task, but you must understand that my brain can stage battles like this to an extent that I do not sleep, I ponder furiously, and no amount of aromatherapy candles and pleasant woodwind music can calm me down.

Even heated towels and green tea and steam had a tough time getting my mind to coast into relaxation, but there’s just no denying the power of a facial. You’re warm, you’re cozy, the room is quiet and dark, and a lady with a soothing voice is rubbing all kinds of nice-smelling goop on your face and then wiping it off with a hot towel, then rubbing more warm goop on, then wiping it off. Blissful, really.

When the time came to re-robe and move on to the pedicure, I found it quite difficult to blink or wiggle my fingers, let alone leave the warm massage table, but somehow I managed, and while we sat in the sun room drinking tea, Debbie (who had already had her pedicure) rubbed her toes together and said gleefully, “I have princess feet!”

My feet had never felt particularly un-princessy to me, but by the time they’d been parafinned and jet-tubbed and buffed with all kinds of odd implements and my toes polished a dark, dark blackish purple, I understood. All afternoon I smirked to myself, remembering my dainty, soft, spotless toes and thought, princess feet. And, spoiled rotten.

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