I’ve been dying to tell y’all this story but I had to wait for the appropriate amount of time pass to ensure anonymity. Certain details have been altered to protect the not so innocent. We are going to file this little ditty under “Shit that only happens to me.” This seems to be a consistent theme in my life. It’s actually quite freakish. It’s like the Gods know I need material to entertain you and put me in just the right place to find it. I don’t know if that makes me blessed or cursed. Can’t be sure. I’m willing to do almost anything for a good “bit” but this one was a little much for even my tolerance levels….mmmmkkkkay…
The husband and I decided we needed a little getaway. So we booked a weekend off island to rest and enjoy some “services.” I fear my husband thought that to be code for “sex.” It was not. I was thinking more along the lines of “outsourcing” services. No, that does not equate to Hookers. I am more than qualified to take care of the “hard” labor around here thank you very much. Dirty freaks! My vision was dinner, wine and spa treatments. All the feels. Let’s face it…I love to be waited on. It makes me feel rich and entitled for the 5 minutes of my life when I can actually afford it. The good news is, I’m not rich and I’m not an asshole. I tip well and follow the Queens etiquette. I remind God of this every time I play the lottery…..”You can trust me to be a good person JC! Promise! I’ll go straight into hiding and donate to rando charities from my private island.” Random sign of the cross. Lord hear my prayer.
So we headed down the coast for our fab weekend getaway. I booked us a suite at a fancy resort with all the perks. The first night we went to a lovely restaurant where we ate and drank French food and wine. Magnifique! I’m as close to a French whore as one can get living stateside. They are my people….they don’t engage in unwanted chatter, they drink great wine ALL THE TIME and their food is amazeballs. I also believe them to be nappers which is icing on the croissant. I digress….so night one was a success. The next day I booked said services at the spa located within the resort. 5 Stars with all the amenities. Bougie approved! We decided on a couples massage. They asked me if I wanted a male or female masseuse. Um why is that a question? Dude, s’il vous plait. But I was in “fancy mode” and trying to be on my best behavior. Which happens to be a chore on a good day. So I said either was fine. My husband on the other hand….had to have a female. I believe it went something like “No Dude is rubbing all over me.” Kay. We can trade. I couldn’t exactly say that however. It’s a marriage thing. You gotta follow it with something like “Honey the only man I want touching me is you.” Or Brad Pitt….which should be said softly under ones breath FYI.
We arrived at the spa ready to disrobe and commence with our rub down. The lobby was quite swanky…check-check. My expectations were higher than originally anticipated after taking in my surroundings. Hell, all you have to do is give me a free bar of soap and it feels like Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. One of the ladies walked me back to the locker room to change into my robe/slippers and take care of any necessary business. Fancy. I decided I better pee before getting undressed. I made my way to the bathroom area. I heard someone in one of the stalls so I opened the other door.. BIG MISTAKE! The smell that accosted my nostrils was something no human should ever smell or expel quite frankly. Much to my surprise the perpetrator emitting said foul odor was sitting in all her glory staring at back at me. Deer- Headlights. 1. Why would you not lock the door when going to the loo? 2. If one were so inclined to drop a nuclear bomb one should not only lock the door but pull the fire alarm and spare the masses. 3. Neither 1 or 2 were adhered to. So there I was…staring at the suspect unsure what to do. I apologized profusely for walking in on her and gracefully closed the door. I think it’s safe to say my nicety was a serious case of shit for brains. I can’t be sure. I had 2 immediate problems. 1. I still had to pee and 2. My nose hairs were on fire. Not good…
I ran back to the locker room to change. I grabbed a towel in an attempt to block the noxious gasses enveloping me. No go. That “smell” was in every orifice of my body with no hope of an exit plan. I will spare you a description of the assaulting odor. Even I’m not that crass. When I heard the bathroom doors open and close I ran towards the the one “she” wasn’t in. Listen, I knew there was no escaping but I had to pee. If I was on my own turf I would have gone outside. I do that from time to time to make myself appreciate indoor plumbing. I saw employees exiting from both bathrooms. We were face to face again with the shit bomb she laid looming in the air. I was hoping for some sort of essential oil combo waffling through the spa when I booked but we don’t always get what we want now do we? How is this happening in such a high end place? In my mind there is an employee bathroom for these situations. Apparently not. I peed as quickly as I could so I could and got out of there. At this point the entire locker room smelled like her ass and whatever she had the misfortune of eating. I said a silent prayer for her colon and left the area.
After washing my hands and teeth with soap I went into the waiting area. It offered a tiny reprieve from the scents assassinating me. I was hoping the massage would make up for the “incident.” The sweet hostess person said my rubber down person would be right with me. Please make it a man… please. Not only was it not a man….it was…..wait for it….can you guess who? The Defecator of Death! Sweet Jesus can I not get a break?! She introduced herself as my massage therapist as if she didn’t just drop a major stink bomb in the swanky locker room. I gave her my best Fakey McFake smile hoping she didn’t remember me and the death bomb incident. To be sure she knew. Defector of Death 1…kellerB 0. She walked me back to a room that smelled of lavender and my husband. I think. I feared my nasals were permanently damaged. Once in the room, she and her non shitty colleague told us to get undressed and exited the room. I used this as an opportunity to let my husband in on the sitch. I whispered in his ear in case she was listening. I thought he would be mortified or at least LOL. But no. That would be too easy. His main concern was that she was in fact my rubber down person and not his. Love is strange. That’s when reality set in. She would be rubbing all that is me with her E Coli laden hands. I was being victimized once more! There’s no 911 for this sort of shit. To make matters worse, no one cares. I felt naked and afraid.
She came back in the room and proceeded to rub some sort of oil concoction under my nose. Typically used by professionals to keep your nose from getting stuffy, I fear the Defecator of Death took mercy on me in an attempt to clear me out. While I appreciated the gesture….a little too late sister. I would have preferred to accompany her to the sink for an acid wash of those digits. No such luck. Like the good little egg I am, I let her rub her shitty paws all over me. Jesus take the wheel. The things I do for you people! When it was over she gracefully exited the room with her counterpart. Still feeling violated I ran into the locker room to shower. But then I saw the steam room and thought better of it. I wrapped my defecated parts in a towel and sat sucking my thumb in shock. How did my 5 star weekend turn into a #2 weekend? I paid a small fortune to be assaulted on the playground of the rich and famous. And no free bar of soap. Le sigh…