My friend, Amy Lynn Andrews, is offering her time management ebook, Tell Your Time , for FREE on Kindle TODAY ONLY! Hurry and snag this FREE offer!
And by the way, have I ever told you the crazy story of how I invited Amy to get a free massage with me at a fancy, hoity, toity spa?
It is the kind of place that has dim lighting, serene music, and pleasant smells that do not naturally occur in a home with eight children. There was nary a whiff of baking bread, Scrubbing Bubbles, or dirty diapers.
I had been given a complimentary massage for myself and a guest, and I invited Amy to be my guest. We had filled out some pre-appointment paper work stating that we both requested a female masseuse, and that we declined the booty massage. I’m pretty sure they termed it as something other than “booty massage”, but that’s what it boiled down to.
At the time I had a shiny, new, nursing baby, who was still in the “I only ever wake up to eat” stage, so I brought her with me, thinking I would let her snooze in her infant carrier while I had the massage.
Well, apparently, it is simply ill mannered to bring a child into a spa. I learned that day that spa personnel and spa goers do not want to see, hear, or know about children during their spa experiences. The management informed me that I would have to step outside with the baby.
Not wanting to miss out on our relaxing treats, I brainstormed my options and decided I would phone a friend and ask if she could watch the baby in the car while we got our massages. (Hi, Lene!)
We waited in the car and chatted while waiting for my friend to get there. She finally arrived and we went back into the spa.
The management greeted us again and told us to go that way, get naked, and prepare for Steve and Chance to give us our massages. Okay, they said it much fancier than that, but that’s what it boiled down to.
Amy and I looked at each other and then at the manager. Amy asked, “Is there any chance that Steve and Chance are girls with trendy boy names?”
No. They weren’t.
We looked at each other again and agreed that no matter how tense we were, there was no chance we were getting naked for strange men to rub oil on us.
So we all left and ate chocolate ice cream instead.
And I’m pretty sure Amy won’t be taking me up on any more massage invitations.