What a girl wants

As I sat in my Italian Fango Mud Bath at the Mermaid Spa in Sebastapol for the second half hour of my “treatment”, I had to admit that the only way to describe this intense self-pleasure was: love. Taking a bath in a commercial establishment, for US$65 an hour, at first may seem weird. I know it did to every man I told my plans to, including the Hertz reservations guy at the San Jose Marriott. And honestly, it even seemed a bit off to me when I initially sank in the tub and wondered why this was so different from doing it at home, given that I have no kids, pets or significant others to interrupt my me-time anyway.

At home when I take a tub, or anywhere besides the Mermaid Spa when I’ve prepared myself a hot bath, I’m usually not in it for more than 15 or 20 minutes, tops. I suppose I get bored, fidgety, and anxious to move on to the next thing, even when I have a book. Here, I had paid to give myself one full hour of pleasure, whether I enjoyed it or not. For the first half hour, I have to say, I was kind of looking forward to the woman walking in and telling me it was half over. I had been left in a room with a beautiful deep tub, candles, a glass of flavoured water, an apricot face scrub, a washcloth and a bucket of ice water to cool myself off with. Being the insufferable stoic that I am, I immediately told myself I wouldn’t be needing the ice water. Ha. Hahaha. HAHAHA. I was trying so hard to relax the way I imagined one should. Lying just so, as though when the woman came back I would be judged on how correctly I was relaxing. That’s so me.

After she did knock –and did not give me an approving or disapproving look, one way or the other- and the second half hour began, that’s when I really got into it. I threw the whole “ought to” idea of relaxation out the non-existent window and just gave in to whatever I wanted to do. I took pictures of myself (see my Flickr account for one), I sat up, I rolled over. I turned on the jets. I lay incredibly still and watched the reflection of the ceiling lamp until I felt I might not exist at all. I soaked the washcloth in ice water and just left it on my head. I was a mess. I was one, big, happy as love mess. It was amazing. And when the woman came back to tell me the hour was up, I couldn’t help but respond “noooo…”. I would have stayed in that tub forever. The only reason I accepted to get out was because she promised to end my hour with a foot rub and my feet were simply too tempted to pass it up. They were laughing, they were so happy.

Other highlights of Napa’s Weekend of Indulgence; finally getting a chance to tan by the hotel pool and sit in the wicked hot Jacuzzi; drink 3 glasses of champagne –sorry, sparkling wine- atop a French-style castle overlooking endless vineyards; rolling over the countryside in a Spyder convertible; eating bread and cheese in the park in Sonoma; and buying a floppy, colourful sunhat in a boutique full of beautiful things. Not to mention, spending the time with Elvira, the most awesomest travel companion.