When a couple has been together for 17 years, it's difficult to come up with something they haven't done before for Valentine's Day. We've done the dances, the dinners, the movie dates. And this year, Valentine's Day was a random Monday night during which we struggled to get dinner on the table while the kids ran around the house like a couple of caffeine-infused bouncy balls.
I've done a couple of spa days a year for the last few years. I like massages and body wraps, but I'm not a big fan of facials. (I always feel like my face has been sandblasted.) David, however, had never had a massage. I thought it would be fun(ny) to book one for him. So, I made a reservation for a couple's massage at my favorite local spa...
After convincing him that suggesting that I pay to have another person rub his back was not, in fact, an elaborate "relationship test."
Now, David is a manly man. Huntin', fishin', marathon runnin', all that. It's safe to say he has never seen the inside of a spa. And I'll admit I had way too much fun with him in the days leading up to our appointment, describing what "undressing to the level of your comfort" meant. For a day or so, I had him believing that being buck naked or wearing a swim suit and socks were his only two options. (It means strip down to your briefs if you're inclined.)
I also may have briefly misled him into thinking that his massage therapist was going to be a big burly dude.
Now, like most spas, mine is decorated in that Earth-toned, mellowed out fashion that's supposed to keep you from thinking about the outside world. David took one look at the waiting room and said, "It's like Pier One and World Market had a baby."
There was a debate in the changing room, in which I unsuccessfully tried to get him to wear the leopard print spa robe instead of the black one.
Once we got into the therapy room and I convinced David that I was, indeed, just kidding about the bathing suit, we had a lovely time. The massage tables had this heated padding system that I want to get installed in our bedroom somehow. There was plinky-plunky music and low lighting. The therapists were quiet, professional and didn't do the Vulcan nerve pinch once.
I glanced over halfway through the session, and it looked like David was in a coma. He insists I was snoring at point, so I can't judge. As we tried to peel ourselves out of the happy little heated blanket cocoons, he muttered, "If I'd known this is what you did every time I went fishing, I probably would have stayed home with you."
So overall, this Valentine's Day was a success. And we're probably going back for another appointment in a few months.
But I did steal the black robe for the trip back to the changing room.