Stylish Moron

I love friends. I love Birthdays. So it naturally follows that I love celebrating friends birthdays. This is one of the many reasons that I was tickled and excited when I received a special invite to help celebrate a wonderful milestone birthday for a close friend by attending a girls day spa party at a swanky resort for an afternoon full of pampering and an evening full of friends, food and libations.I love massages. They feel so wonderful and relax me to the point of jello-ness. The only problem, I have back and neck problems. Due to the nature of my issues, massages are too much of a good thing. The last time I had a full one hour massage (9 years ago) I spent the next six months hanging out with my chiropractor 3 times a week. Good thing I like the guy.

So when the special spa day invite came it put me into a conundrum. I could opt for the facial, but they just don't really do much for me except make my face break out worse than when I was 15. I could have a mud bath, but I could do that in my yard with the kids and the dog for free. I could opt for a mani/pedi/toe wax, but the swank prices were a little to much to pay for those services. Hmmm, what to do? What to do?

Then it came to me. I'll get a massage! Yes, sometimes I am just plain old stupid.

I convinced myself that if I only got the 1/2 hour hot stone massage with no deep tissue work, I would be fine. I would then top it off with 1/2 hour of reflexology (a swanky and fantastic foot massage). When all was said and done, I didn't want it to be over. It was so good and I felt so relaxed. Wrapping myself back up in my uber plush, thick and soft robe that I seriously considered putting in my bag to take home and heading into the dimly lit and serene lounge room to join some of our crew for snacks and water while lying on day beds waiting for Mark Anthony to come feed me grapes living the good life.

After a soak in the hot tub and few minutes making use of the sauna, it was time to dress and primp again before heading to the hotel lounge/bar to begin girls night out.

The company was delightful, the mood light, the drinks cold and the stools backless. After about an hour of sitting on these stools I knew I was in trouble. My neck started to tighten and ache. My back was still so relaxed that it refused to pick up the slack and support my neck like it usually does. The birthday girl spotted me and immediately recognized what was happening. Anyone who spends time with me regularly can spot the signs of 'she over did it'.

When it was time for our sweet ride to pick us up and take us to our next girls night out locale, our most wonderful hostess assumed correctly that I just needed to get home to my orthopedic pillow on my orthopedic bed and had the driver drop the gang off at the next party stop and continue on to take myself and another guest (who was recovering from a recent surgery) back to our cars.

I drove home and went straight to my bed upon entering the house. I had given Mr. Weasel a heads up phone call and he has all set to tuck me in with a handful of ibuprofen. Sunday arrived with me wishing I had a traction contraption set up in the house. I didn't get out of bed until noon and was back in bed by 5:00. This morning I am still relegated to the couch and pain pills that make me stoned groggy and my face numb, but help with the pain.

To so recap, I was the youngest gal at the party, yet felt like the oldest, and Weasels need to re-learn lessons about every 9 years. I am a moron, but I do it with style.