I pretended I wasn't worried about my dwindling income this morning and had a spa day. In my own defense, I paid for a decent chunk of the treatments I chose with a generous gift card; but really, does pampering need to be defended? I got that card almost two years ago, I'd held on to it for exactly this kind of occasion: when it would really be a welcome treat. Nothing necessary, not routine maintenance, but a real, sensual, relaxing, transporting treat. The New York Times is reporting the unemployment rate has risen to 9.5% and my severance checks are about to run out, but fiddle dee dee, I'm having a facial! La la la la la, I can't hear you! I'm having a seaweed mask applied! I don't have a job but my skin has fabulous elasticity, dammit! I took in the gratuitous compliments, the foot massage, the fresh lemonade and brownies in the lounge, the plush robe, and the hot rain shower like the balms against harsh reality that they are meant to be, and was happy to overpay handsomely for them. Because sometimes you should, even if you probably shouldn't. Because sometimes it's worth it to feel like a princess instead of a pauper for a few hours. Because, aaaaahhhhhhh...
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