Now it’s time to get our hands dirty.
Here follows one of the stories men hear around the barbeque. These are the tales that drive fear in the hearts of golfers and their caddies alike when teeing off on the 3rd at St Andrews. This is how your potential customers are pre-programmed to dread the unknown. Read with caution.
The receptionist had waved me toward the change rooms and I complied. My wife was nowhere to be seen, I was going solo. I undressed and robed as per instruction, then lingered in the bathroom. After an eternity I ventured out and found myself exposed in the hallways of beauty. Commando under the robe is not for the fainthearted. Others were gliding purposely while I lumbered to the fruit juice dispenser for a desperate swig of something, no Budweiser in sight. The waiting area was packed. I took a tentative sip of the organic and eyed the sofa, designed for Snow White’s little friends I’m sure. It was one of those father-in-law-will-pop-his-knee-replacement couches. Low and dangerous, certainly not endorsed by the ‘Orthopodedic Association’.
At this point my wife sped to my aid and I relaxed momentarily. This was a mistake. In the attempt to plonk my rear down I accidently flashed the vicar’s wife and startled the cleaning staff. My back hit the edge of the couch, slopping my drink over the lava lamp and I promptly flashed everyone again. Things were rapidly going the shape of a pear. In the space of a few seconds I had offended the patrons and staff, partially dislocated my lumbar spine and almost extinguished the decor. No one giggled or made an attempt to put me at ease, they just stared. My wife started to act like my teenage daughter. She made as if she didn’t know me from a bar of soap and I’m pretty sure I heard a ‘tut-tut’ escape her lips. I grabbed the Cosmo off the display and faked interest in the ‘7 Ways to orgasm before the next moon landing’ article when my therapists arrived. Thank goodness. I will never know how I escaped the sofa-trap, but I managed it without displaying more of my manliness to the world. She led me to the scary unknown while I desperately held out my hand toward my wife. My dearest was ushered off elsewhere, unimpressed.
Question: How do you get onto a high plinth, space the towels to cover the sensitive areas and lie down without tipping over?
Well … don’t ask me. Suffice to say that half my man-rump was on display when the poor girl re-entered. By now I couldn’t give a damn anymore, I was in over my head. In way over.
A Satisfied Customer
At this point things turned around. Fortunately my therapist displayed the grace we usually attribute to the Duchess of Canterbury. She straightened me out and started to do her thing without a hint of condescension. I was due for a back massage and an Elim Medi-Heel pedicure. Never will I look back.
I walked in with the feet of a Hobbit and left with my toes in bows. I walked in oblivious of bliss and left a new man. It was a great experience. The decor was beautiful, wish I could do that at home. The washrooms were clean, the pool was great and the therapists were fantastic. I relaxed, enjoyed and saw the resurrection of my heels. I’ll definitely be back.
Tall tales will always be told around the barbeque or golf course. Next time, ask to hear the second half of the story.
Mine had a good ending.
James Home – Content Author