|
Note from Ro: This strange episode of my life took place in January 2008. It's such a funny memory that I thought I'd share it with you again.
Rozanne Paxman
Seaweed Wrap Jubilee
She convinced me that it would be a good idea to have a spa treatment. Perhaps it would relax me and take my mind off of my troubles. Since I have little experience with such matters, I handed the "menu" of treatments available to her, and she pointed to an item on the card.
"You need to have a seaweed wrap."
When the time arrived for me to be wrapped in a sea plant, I was dressed (coincidentally) in a seaweed green spa robe. I should have realized at that moment that, perhaps, something was afoot. I worried that I was going to become sushi, and she told me that, perhaps, I needed a side of wasabi to complete my order.
I became acquainted with my seaweed wrap therapist as she was a chatty-urchin type. I expected an explanation of what was about to occur, but I hadn't expected to have to answer questions and comments such as: "Did you know that you have big red marks on your back? Oh, never mind... you have sensitive skin... Oh, it is so white... like alabaster... Where does your family come from? Holland? England, you say? I wouldn't have guessed England. Are you sure? Hmmm... They came over on the Mayflower - both sides of the family? How many children do you have? Do they look like you?"
She began by having me crawl up on an enormous sheet of plastic wrap. Then, she was surprised when I stuck to it. After moving the towel around that almost covered me up (blush... I am an extremely modest person), she began smearing me with thick, gooey, cold, green clay-seaweed something or other.
It wasn't pleasant.
After I was properly basted, I was set up to bake. The plastic wrap was tucked around me until I felt like a burrito, after which three enormous, steamy-hot towels were laid on top of my body. Then, to make sure the heat stayed in the oven, a blanket was placed on the top of the tower.
My head had escaped.
But, no... I was wrong. I saw something coming toward me, and I knew that my eyes would be covered. Thankfully, the eye mask wasn't green and gooey.
The therapist left the room, and I was left to my thoughts. I shortly began to worry if testing methods had been run on such a process. Do they know exactly how long it takes for someone who is in a seaweed wrap to reach well-done? She didn't stick a thermometer in my mouth.
"Maybe she watches a clock," I reasoned.
But that thought worried me, and I considered that she may become engaged in an interesting hallway conversation with another therapist and forget her seaweed burrito until it was too late to rescue me. Perhaps she would return and find remnants of seaweed and blond hair strewn around the therapy room.
I started to doze off, but the sound of a snort coming out of my mouth woke me up. "I snored!" I panicked. "I've probably committed some kind of spa-crime. Should I be humiliated?"
"What would someone do if they wanted to get out of this situation?" I wondered. "If seaweed burritos cry out, will anyone hear the sound?"
Just as I was getting worked up into a fevered green state, the therapist returned. "Oh, good," I thought, expecting to be released from my plastic prison. "It's nearly over."
But, no, it was not to be... not yet. First, I was to receive a scalp massage.
Now, I have nothing against scalp massages. They can be enjoyable. This one was fairly pleasant - under the circumstances. The problem I had was that once it was over, I discovered that my hair had been massaged into the same sort of rat's nest that was an integral part of a 1960s hairdo. But the end of the massage also meant that the seaweed burrito was going to be sprung from plastic prison, and the burrito was grateful.
I was instructed to put on my robe and then go to the shower and wash off the treatment. Because the inside of the robe would be green once I had worn it (no kidding), I was given a new robe to wear back to the room.
Yes. It appeared that I had to return back to the therapy room.
I obediently headed off for the shower, expecting the seaweed mask to wash off right away. I expected it because I had been told that it would melt off of my skin in the water.
But, once I was in the shower, I discovered that the seaweed liked my alabaster white skin and didn't want to leave it. It wanted me to be green.
I spotted a washcloth and began scrubbing in earnest. As I worked, I discovered that the scalp massage had managed to get some goop up in my beehive hairdo.
Oh man... as much as I didn't want to, I had to wash my hair.
Once the shower was over, I slipped on the clean robe and came out of the shower room rubbing my hair. The therapist seemed very confused that I washed my hair.
Hmmmm...
Well, let's see... thick, gooey, green stuff in hair + nearly acquired beehive ratty hairdo = an immediate need to wash one's hair.
I simply said, "I'm 5'2". I'm short. My head gets wet when I am in the shower."
That seemed reasonable to her, and I was spared from explaining more. However, she became worried that I would get a cold because I had wet hair (Yes, mother...), and so she handed me a gigantic towel to wrap around my hair. The towel-turban immediately increased my height by one-third.
Wobbling as I walked, we entered the room. I went over to the chair to drop off my flip-flops. Along the way, I hit my towel turban on a wall sconce.
I looked over at her and said, "I'm not used to being so tall."
She told me to lie face down on the table under a blanket. Then she left the room to allow me to arrange myself in private.
Now, you would suppose that placing yourself on the table would be an easy matter, right?
Wrong.
At the end of the table was a face rest. I was supposed to lie on the table with my face in the face rest. However, I had the towel turban that was twice as tall as my head - and it was three times heavier. When I moved up towards the face rest, I felt the towel turban's weight threaten to tear my head from off my body. Since I enjoy having a head, I chose another alternative: I placed my face on the table and let the turban enjoy the face rest.
The therapist returned and immediately said, "Ohhhhh! Something is wrong."
Duh.
She figured it out and took the towel off of my head (relief) and then instructed me to scoot up and place my face where it belonged. "I think there must be alcohol in that seaweed wrap," she said, trying to explain why someone who looked as intelligent as me would do such a silly thing.
"Oh, my gosh," I thought. "I look seaweed-tipsy." This was embarrassing to me as I have never consumed alcohol.
The truth was, I was afraid of her. Since she had insisted that I put the towel on my head, I was afraid to take it off.
Once the towel had been removed, she began rubbing another sticky, cold substance all over me. Since I had understood that I was to be sent away from the seaweed wrap feeling refreshed, this surprised me. I guessed I didn't realize that lemony, sticky, cold stuff was refreshing. Sigh... I have so much to learn about this spa stuff. I am apparently not very sophisticated.
When she was nearly through applying the lemony goop, she suddenly announced, "Now, make sure you don't wash this off. And the next time you take a shower, make sure you put lotion on. Seaweed wraps dry out your skin."
Oh great... just what I need... dry skin.
Yes, dry skin was what I was seeking when I allowed myself to be smeared with green, thick, goopy, cold, clay stuff. And I was thinking, "Oh boy! I'm going to have dry skin once this is over!" while I was baking in the burrito oven. And I was particularly anxious to see how I would look, how my newly acquired beehive hairdo and dry complexion would coordinate once I left the room.
Not.
Now that it is all over, I have one thing to say about seaweed wraps: Once was enough.
But, at least I wasn't turned into sushi....
- Ro
Muse: To be absorbed in one's thoughts; engage in meditation. Not intended to solve the world's problems, another person's problems, or to cover topics completely. One does not have to agree with musings to enjoy them, just as one does not have to be the same as someone else to appreciate who they are.
Would you like to earn a $20 Gift Certificate? Send your own muse to [email protected]. If it is selected for publication in the Scrap Girls newsletter, you'll get to have fun shopping!
| 
