the hard truth

Before I get busted for coming off looking like a picture of normalcy, I'd better come clean about the birthday spa day.

I didn't want to go. And I was even mad at C for booking the day. Why? Oh because I feel so obeast that I didn't want to get semi-naked in front of a stranger even for a massage. To anyone who knows me, that is some serious fat-feeling because I am normally a complete massage whore.

C reassured me that I needn't worry about being uncomfortable because he had gone ahead and met with the spa folks and told them that I feel fat, that they absolutely must NOT do anything that makes me uncomfortable, that they need to let me be in control and should stop if I decide I don't like something, that I seem to be more into a relaxing kind of massage and on and on.

That was his reassurance. Can you even imagine? What a poor, sweet naive fool.

More about my reaction and the staff's reaction to me another time.

Time to rest my smashed up elbow and magnesium-ravaged innards.