We all need a bit of ‘me’ time. We all love being pampered, don’t we?
Before I got married and had children, when I was young, free and footloose I would regularly treat myself to a facial or a pedicure. I’m not sure that I enjoyed it, but it was something that my friends did. Like coveting expensive shoes, matching accessories to outfits and buying too many handbags. Like going for coffee and cake and moaning about rubbish boyfriends and putting on weight.
Before I got married and had children I would be plucked, rubbed, buffed and polished to within an inch of my life. I must have told my husband about this. For Christmas he gave me a voucher for a ‘Pamper Experience’. Initially I was delighted. It will be a break from the children, it will be relaxing. Yes, exactly what I need.
I had my first child in September 2007, I had my second child 363 days later. The phrase ‘you’ve got your hands full’ was written for me. Two babies is hard work. I don’t get much time for myself.
I found the voucher in a pile of stuff in April. I finally got round to making a booking in July. Oh, they’ve closed the Preston premises, can you come to Lytham? Oh, okay.
On the day it was a rush to get the boys up, fed, washed and dressed and over to Grandma and Grandad’s. I didn’t know where the beauticians was in Lytham, thank goodness for SatNav! I arrived with seconds to spare. At least I had seen the sea, always a pleasure.
I took a deep breath and went in.
I was dreading my pamper experience. I’d had two children in quick succession. I’m lucky if I leave the house in clean clothes. My beauty regime consists of washing my hair when it gets really greasy. I’ve put on weight. I still wear maternity clothes. In the car I’d been tortured by imagined scenes of laughing size zero pretty young things, making puke faces. Hahaha you get to massage the whale.
Vicky took all my details and let me to the treatment room. Not a smirk. So far so good. She instructed me to strip to the waist and lay face down on the bed with a towel over me. She left the room. I checked for possible CCTV, I couldn’t see any cameras, they could be behind the mirrors. Oh dear. I’m here now. I swiftly followed her instructions.
My first treatment was a back massage. This should have relaxed me. But all I could think was how disgusted she must be at having to stroke my love handles. I know she’s getting paid, but there must be times when she hates her job. Or perhaps it’s more satisfying for her to squeeze flabby flesh than to be careful not to break someone’s ribs if she applies too much pressure? I didn’t ask. I worried that she could smell the garlic I’d had for dinner the night before. I thought of the boys. What age-inappropriate toys would they be playing with? Would they be out in the sun without hats and factor 50?
I wasn’t relaxing. Argh!
Next I had to perform a turning over manoevre that would have frightened small children, had there been any in the room, and had Vicky not been holding up a mercifully large towel magician’s assistant style.
It was time for a re-polish. She asked me if I usually painted my toenails. I replied no, not since I’d had children. Oh dear she was going near my feet! How long were my toenails? How much hard skin was there on my feet? Were they even clean? They couldn’t have been too whiffy as she applied a good six coats of polish in the colour shell. For those unfamiliar with the colour shell, it is pink.
I laid back and listened to the musak blaring out of the CD player. It was a bit loud and a bit odd. I would have expected floaty zen waves, I would have settled for pan pipes. What I was subjected to was incidental film score. I could see Audrey Hepburn in sunglasses and a headscarf driving an open-top sports car around the hill roads in Monaco. I could see an old man walking slowly through the drizzle to leave a single red rose on his late wife’s grave. I could see new life in the Spring, ferns unfurling, melting snow. I could feel I was starting to relax. At last!
Mmm, now a facial. Vicky had a magnificent, confident touch. She cleansed, toned, exfoliated, massaged, moisturised and balmed me. She wrapped my face in hot towels and gently wiped it with cotton wool. I could feel my skin breathing in the lavender (as was I) and de-stressing (as was I). I drifted off while she massaged my neck and shoulders. Bliss.
That was it, my pamper experience had come to an end. I slowly came to and very slowly sat up and admired my pretty toes. I drank a large glass of water. I dressed, forgetting about all those cameras.
I didn’t buy any products, neither did I book any further appointments, but I politely took all the leaflets. I was sent on my way with a list of instructions for the rest of the day:
- Don’t drive – I’ve got to drive forty miles to pick up the boys and get us home.
- Don’t drink alcohol - some chance!
- Don’t exercise – okay running around after a toddler and a baby isn’t exactly an Olympic sport, but it’s not sedate either.
- Do rest – see above!
- Do drink plenty of water – at last one I can follow.
And relax? That night I slept like an exhausted new mother, does that count?
...And Relax!
