Pittston Dispatch // PD Columnists // Haley Taffera - Haley's Comment

Sunday October 11, 2009 | 01:00 AM

I celebrated yet another birthday last month. I am now 26 years young and one step closer to cashing in on that sweet AARP deal that I mentioned last year.

For said birthday, I received gift cards from my family for a massage, facial, and pedicure at a salon and “destination spa” as they like to be called.

At the time, I was ecstatic that my subtle hints – a.k.a. loud declarations of “I LOVE facials! Oh my goodness a massage would be WONDERFUL! My feet are KILLING me and sure could use some love!” – worked and that they wanted to guarantee I received everything on my wish list, but now, upon reflection, I don’t know if my family was actually trying to tell me something instead with such gifts.

Are/were they saying that they know I work hard and deserve such services to be pampered and relaxed, to feel pretty, witty, and gay?

Or, are/were they saying that I’m starting to look like a plain old hot mess as I “mature?” Which is it dammit?!

For my own peace of mind and self esteem, I’m going to stick with option A.

There is no such option as the dreaded B.

Anyway, I was pretty pumped to enjoy all the benefits of a massage. I was going to have my muscle tension eased, increase my circulation, improve my tissue mobility, and relax away my stresses.

Ahhh, therapeutic!

But therapy, at first glance, could not possibly come in the form of my masseuse who was tiny and cute and all but incapable of giving me a proper rub down as she was about 5 inches shorter than I and roughly 15 pounds lighter. I discovered, however, that she was actually an evil ninja in disguise who is tougher than Rocky Balboa in his prime.

She had me giggling like a hyena as she daintily rubbed my feet, arms, and legs though two minutes later she had me gritting my teeth and on the brink of yelling out “Uncle! Uncle! I give! TRUCE!!” while she was attacking my back. I think she might have actually been using her elbow for that part.

And then, she used hot, and I mean HOT, stones while she tried to knead the heck out of the knots in my neck and shoulders. That part of it wasn’t so much relaxation as it was cruel and unusual punishment, but she said it was necessary since that’s where I apparently store all of my tension.

When my time was up, I left feeling as though I just got the snot kicked out of me at the gym. Every muscle ached and screamed out in both pleasure and pain. It hurt so good that when it came time to go for my facial, I was more than ready for some R & R.

I had been treated to a facial a year or two back and knew one thing for certain: I LOVED it. I had relished every second and walked away with clean, glowing, brilliant skin. It was an all around wonderful experience. I was not disappointed with this facial either, even though I was picked at like a monkey.

It began smoothly enough what with the steam blowing on me making me feel all drowsy and relaxed, and then the deep cleansing that removed all of the hidden gunk off of my face, but it got interesting when the word “extraction” came into play. “Extraction” is just a fancy term for “pick your pimples.”

And that’s exactly what happened, and my facial provider was totally serious about it. She took deep cleansing to a new extreme. She picked at every minute flaw that I had on my face, not resting until my pores were pristine.

She then proceeded to also assault me with hot stones, but for the purposes of balancing my chakras, or energy centers if you will. Whatever it is that she did, and Lord knows that I have no idea, I again had clean, glowing, brilliant skin.

And then I put some makeup on.

Moving on to my third and final spa service, I was scheduled to have pretty, happy feet. I had never had a pedicure before as I loathe feet.

Feet are in my opinion ugly and smelly, but I was open to the idea of a foot bath, exfoliation, nail care, a massage, and a professional polish. I’d heard that people’s feet are actually attractive things to look at post receiving such a service. I then discovered that that alleged attractiveness comes from mildly scorching your feet and ankles with hot paraffin wax.

From that point on, nonetheless, the woman who was giving me the pedicure wooed me by making every attempt possible to ensure that she didn’t tickle but rather firmly massaged my sore, high heeled abused feet. She went to great lengths to make sure that I would be pleased with my nail polish color, and even went so far as to give me a pair of flip-flops to wear home so that I didn’t smudge her paint job. Now, that’s service!

When walking out to my car, however, a rock pushed through the paper-thin flops and stabbed me in my baby soft feet. So much for not being sore anymore.

So, my spa experience was a good one. My birthday wish was fulfilled and I discovered that while these services are meant to pamper you, there’s also some tough love and a lot of rocks and tipping involved.

I felt witty, and gay, but I looked like an oily, hot mess with all of the different lotions dripping off my skin.

Ahhh, therapeutic!

Haley Taffera – generally regarded as pretty, witty and gay even without a massage and facial – writes in this space every other week.