Mr Murphy and I – Or the Spa I Almost Went To
Last year, for my 40-st birthday I received one of the greatest gifts a woman can receive from a man (and well, to disappoint you it’s neither a 100-carat diamond ring nor a 5-hour-triple-orgasm-included frenzy, but in terms of enjoyment something very close to that). My husband, knowing how desperate I am for some me-time (and perhaps a little pampering) bought me a stay at a nearby spa.
It came after months of perpetual whining:
“That’s it, I’ve had it!”
“I can’t do this anymore!”
“I will go nuts if I don’t leave for a few days!”
and the like (which I guess he simply couldn’t take anymore).
I was incredibly moved by the fact that he was able to read between the lines, without being too distracted by sheer bitchiness of my voice. That he was able to see beyond that spiteful, venomous being that was making his life living hell (at least when low on hormones or overworked) and showered me with love in the shape of an indulging escape into the world of calm and apples (since the spa was in Normandy).
I blew my candles, ate my cake and with excitement opened a little envelope including a piece of text that sounded like a hallucinatory dream. I realized that in my hand I was holding the very future of my serendipitous existence – a few days of total bliss, a piece of heaven in a little hidden corner of northern France, paradise on earth if you want, right there in Bagnoles-de-l’Orne.
I already pictured myself lying down with a towel covering my derriere, with heated stones on my back for a deeply relaxing effect. I virtually saw myself standing across the room while a woman clad in a plastic apron was shooting water under pressure from a hose to tighten my belly muscles and forming my flabbily tights. I was watching myself submerging in a basin filled with mud to extract deposits from under my skin. I accompanied myself to the swimming pool for a cooling off swim after exhausting treatments. I vividly imagined myself getting an apple essence facial to let my real beauty emerge from under a layer of acid peel. I finally saw myself falling asleep with a book in my hand in ultra crisp and comfortable 580- Thread-Count Pima Cotton Percale Sheets.
Yeah, all that and more, until life came in and distorted my view.
As a result I didn’t get even close to realise my dream. The voucher I received had a one year deadline that couldn’t be met. It expired this month without me ever going to the spa nor being able to appoint somebody else in my place, since it was restricted personally to my name.
The spa was not by far the only thing in my life that didn’t work out as planed. I guess you all know Mr Murphy? We’re so close, that might as well be my middle name.
Mr Murphy comes to say hello at the most unappreciated time. When you’re desperate for a getaway but your voucher expires before you’re ready to go. When your car breaks down while you’re miles away from home and you have to walk back in pouring rain. When the document you’ve been working on for the last 5 hours disappears without being saved because the website crashes. When you’re beautifully dressed, with full make-up on, ready to go out and your babysitter sends you a sms saying that she’s sick (which you kind of doubt). When all you want is to go to Paris and get hammered on your wedding anniversary and the mayor of the City of light decides to introduce the even car ban.
I could continue my list of encounters with Mr Murphy without end.
But then again, maybe it’s not Mr Murphy, maybe it’s just a thing called life?
Plus, it seems I’m not the only one! Have a look here and enjoy life: