When did the holidays become an exercise in anxiety, tension mounting with each fa, la and la? Shopping stress. Baking stress. Light-stringing stress.
Hardly helping. I took on the not particularly arduous task of searching area spas for a moment or two of Zen, to see if a massage, scrub or perhaps a paraffin pedicure could straighten the star atop the tree and help the Hanukkah oil burn an extra night. The receptionist greets me as though she was expecting me, my name at the tip of her tongue, ready with a choice of cucumber- or lemon-infused water.
The treatment I booked is a seasonal one called Hot Toddy for the Body. Whimsically based on the winter drink, it starts with me lying on a warmed bed so the therapist — or maybe it was a bartender — can scrub me head to foot with a bourbon-and-sugar concoction.
Each scrubbed body part is immediately swaddled in heated towels, supposed soaked in milk. The scrub smells exactly like something you might swirl in a snifter. Next, she steps out so I can rinse away the sugar in the shower, which leaves my skin slippery soft — shining even.
They welcome you to linger. They tell me some people get a treatment and then stay all day. Still in the robe, I dangle my feet for a bit in the frothing whirlpool, then dry them off with a sit in the sauna. I wander over to what they call the relaxation room — stopping first to grab tea and snacks from the waiting area. They have all the new magazines and a pitcher of jasmine iced tea. Cross a certain number of people off your list and book a reward.
