Wuthering Hyders

In Which I Become Furniture

I have a vague memory of a body that was once my own. So distant it almost seems like a dream. What happened? Why is it that, with all the furniture in our house, everyone wants to lay on me? Is my body really THAT inviting? The kids, the dog, and even Heath seem to see me as some kind of ultra-plush mattress or fuzzy throw. Now, don't get me wrong, I love my family dearly, but a little personal space now and then ( especially when I feel like the business end of a toilet plunger ) would go a long way. Heath, to his credit, has attempted to get me out of the house alone by giving me a spa certificate. After over two years, I decided to use it. Why, do you ask, did I wait so long? Allow me to explain.

1. I have to get someone to watch the kids in the first place since the spa is supposed to be relaxing and peaceful. Something my children most decidedly are not.

2. I have to make an appointment to go, which implies that I have some general idea of what my life holds in store for the next week. Chances are, someone will have the flu that day.

3. I have to go to some upscale place where I feel quite out of place amongst all of the designer labels and coordinating clutch purses thus making relaxation a real challenge.

4. I feel obligated to carry on a conversation with a total stranger who has been assigned to me like I'm just another file in the "In" box. This person is quite likely to discover beauty rituals even my husband doesn't know about and the only thing I know about them is the name printed on the badge they wear.

5. I tend to over-tip. I have no idea why I do this.

So much for peaceful and relaxing. I don't think I'm cut out for regular spa sessions. And massages? I don't really want some stranger seeing me naked enough to know all the details of my tattoo.

You know, maybe when I had children they gave me a second tattoo ( with highly top secret invisible ink ) that says something like "Please lounge on me". They could have easily done it in conjunction with my epidural and I wouldn't have noticed. Whatever the cause, my body seems to be the choice place to be around here. Someday soon I'm going to wake up with a tag that says "Not To Be Removed" growing out of my backside like a tail.