mARch Flash Tale #1 - "Spa"

“Aren’t you gorgeous!”

I was feeling lucky. And then the unluckiest thing happened. Isn’t that always the way?

Annabelle messaged me on Slack, said everyone could see how stressed I was (to the eyeballs) that I needed some self-care (bottle of Bacardi and binge-watching Outlander). Annabelle’s solution was a healthier; a luxury spa getaway, where I would be pampered from head to toe.

I’d come back to work a new woman.

I was feeling grateful, until I understood that this was not the wonderful prize Annabelle had made it out to be. The spa voucher was in her name, she was just passing it on. But I’m not one to look a re-gifted horse in the mouth.

Is that the expression?  I can’t remember. I can’t remember a lot of things. But that’s to be expected. I said yes, I said thank you, because I did fancy some pampering. I imagined massages, essential oils, twinkling music and...sure, I even imagined slices of cucumber on my eyes. Truth be told, I’d never visited a spa before.

“Annabelle...bella Annabelle! Look at you, all brand new.”

When I arrived, weekend bag in one hand and reservation details in the other, and the receptionist called me my boss’s name, I didn’t correct her. The voucher was non-transferable. I pretend to be my boss for the weekend, what’s the worst that can happen?

Yeah, you’re right. I was naïve. At least, I think I was. Another one of those words that likes to wave at me and then hide around the corner of my mind, just out of sight. I imagine these words, these ideas and memories, all crowded together, hiding behind columns and under tables, whispering and giggling. Maybe at the end of all this, they’ll come back out, they’ll yell “Surprise!” And I’ll be the old me again.

But from the look of my physical appearance, that’s just me being...what was that word again?

“Mummy’s here, darling! My sweet girl!”

A woman gazes down at me. I am wrapped in the fluffiest of warm towels. There is twinkling music, and there is the woman, looking at me with open-mouthed delight. For the briefest of moments, I imagine she thinks I’m a burrito, all wrapped up and ready to eat.

Which is silly. Which is absurd, until I wrinkle my nose, wondering what a burrito is.

Yesterday was normal. Luxury spa normal, anyway. I enjoyed a hot rock massage and eucalyptus aromatherapy, and then the best night’s sleep I can remember.

This morning, I woke up refreshed and reinvigorated. After a breakfast of granola and organic tea, I felt ready for anything!  I could have left there and then, and felt ready to go back to work on Monday.

“Have you been a good girl?” She lifts me up, cradles me in her arms, towel and all. Because I am tiny, because I am light as a feather.

It’s a spa weekend, and so I stayed for the Sunday. Looking back, I wonder what they would have done if I’d insisted on leaving?

“I bet you have! Good as gold!” She rubs my nose lightly with her own, and her face fills my vision.

I should have twigged by the names of today’s treatments. First, the ‘bee pampered’ manicure. They whipped me into softness with a sweet tea shea butter polish, and then they drizzled my hands and arms in a warm honey glaze, and the finishing touch was a sweet cream milk hand and arm massage.

This left me good enough to eat, my head swimming in sensations and scents.

I asked when they would work on my nails, my voice chirping like a little girl’s, and they just laughed, feeding me chocolate fondue dip with marshmallow tea, and then announced it was time for my coconut cream pop pedicure. More whipping with the shea butter, and I watched with a heavy head and blurry eyes as they painted my feet with a chocolate mask. The chocolate mask, in fact, seemed to go everywhere, until I felt as though I had fallen in to a sweet, brown swimming pool, and my whole body, my whole everything tingled, and then it was time for a bubble bath that was really just bubbles, and I was cleaner, and pinker, and brand new.

“Don’t you smell like an angel! Aren’t you good enough to eat!”

The woman doesn’t wait for me to reply, even though I do, I babble and protest, telling her what’s what with my drowsy lips and sleepy tongue. Because I’m Maggie, and I have work tomorrow.

“Oh, Annabelle, isn’t this just perfect. Your business partners get you out of the way, and I get the sweetest, most delicious little baby girl.”

The woman sighs, holding me against her chest. One more time, I wonder if she is going to eat me. And then I giggle; the lady won’t eat me, she won't eat her baby. I burble my joke, bubbling saliva down my chin, and I briefly decide that I must be an empanada, not the other thing, because I’m so sweet, and then the very idea fades from my mind and all I can see, feel, and hear is Mummy.

THE END

A woman wins a lengthy spa vacation in a raffle, arranged by some business rivals who want to do far more pampering than expected, which is a shame when she passes the prize off to her stressed friend Maggie instead. - Anonymous1812