I think I'm too stupid for Thalassotherapy

I'm in Biarritz. Because I'm a lunatic, and I need a vacation. Since this was a surprise, M had everything booked under his name. Here, let me let that sink in for a moment. His name. So when I got to the spa, the woman at the acceuil looked at the ticket she had, looked at me, looked back at the ticket, and back at me again.

“There are two of you?”

“No, just me.”

“You are Madame.”

“Yes.”

“And Monsieur is joining you?”

“No. Just me. It was a surprise.”

“Oh! So you’re replacing him?”

“Yes.”

She gave me a schedule of all the sessions I would attend for the week and showed me where to go for the first one. Then, for some inexplicable reason, she switched to English. And I’m not trying to pretend I’m fluent in French (I do think with a solid three months of actually applying myself, I probably could be), but....

“You....bring...one euro?” She said, pointing to the lockers.

“Oh. No, sorry.”

“Ok. You give me...vos affaires...and...demain, you bring one euro.”

If anyone is wondering, this is probably what *I* sound like in Spanish. I sound even worse in German. I don't know why they gave me a passport. My French is marginally better. Short tangent: I don’t get insulted by the switching to English anymore. I really don’t think it’s meant to be an insult. I think they think it’s more comfortable for English speakers, who are often monolingual, and they get to practice their second (or third, or whatever) language. So I think in their minds, it’s win-win. I don’t really mind unless it’s obvious things would be faster if we just switched back to French.

The first session was actually pretty decent. It was “hydromassage sensoriel”. Basically, you lie down on a waterbed, and these massage heads run up and down the length of your back. After that session, I thought, “This is fantastically wonderful! I’m going to live here forever.”

Second session...bain multi-jets. It’s a bathtub. Like the ones at my grandma’s house. The woman in charge of that session said, “Take off your robe. And your bathing suit if you want. It’s your choice.” Oh, well, in that case, it stays on. I know some of you are going to think, “Seriously? Grow up!” Fine, fine, fine. When in Europe, yeah, ok. In one ear and out the other. I don’t really care what other people do. And conversely, no one should care if I’m clinging to my bathing suit like it’s the last post-Easter Cadbury egg.

So I climbed into this bathtub, thinking, “Whelp...this is a bathtub, all right.” I looked up at the ceiling, and I noticed one of the tiles was ajar. As in, I could see into the next floor up. I was really amused by it, especially in light of the mind-crushing and incredibly life-changing decision about whether or not to keep my bathing suit on. But, I’m easily distracted, and I was having an ongoing conversation with myself mentally that it was essential I got back to rightthatsecond, so I forgot about the tile.

Halfway through the glorified bath (it was with sea water, and my skin looks ridiculously incredible right now, I do have to say), I opened my eyes. The ceiling tile was back in place. So. There’s that. I thought to myself, “That must mean I’m not interesting enough to look at just in my bathing suit!” I agree. Smart move. And then I thought about how glad I was that I HADN’T taken off my bathing suit -- not because of the ick factor in having someone watch you, which yeah, that’s gross for sure, but WHAT IF THEY HAD PUT THE TILE BACK ANYWAY???!! How could I have dealt with that rejection? I think it’s better not to know.

I had an hour to kill after that session, so I tried the pool. It was just a bunch of people leaning up against the walls to take full advantage of the jets. And it was at that moment I realized what a child I am. Because I really had to fight the urge to do aquatic gymnastics. Like a child. So I settled for pretending to swim laps. That’s when I learned that I cannot swim like an actual swimmer. Why is my brain so detached from reality sometimes? When I decided to do laps, I had this image of myself doing long, elegant strokes, gliding through the water like a modern-day selkie -- no, the Queen of the Selkies (it’s always necessary). Except my legs are short, I trip over my own feet on dry land, the breaststroke is not elegant, and it’s impossible to do it on your first try without looking like a massive idiot and dunking your entire face in the water, which (remember) is salt water. So...guess who looked like a massive idiot? Honestly, you would think I would be used to this by now.

I managed to waste an entire 20 minutes in the pool. So I was sort of waddling around the edge pool (the realization of my lack of elegance in the water had reduced the size of my legs in my mind from supermodel-length 6 feet to about 1 foot each) when the woman from the first session approached me.

“Do you want to do your next session now instead of in 40 minutes?”

At the time, I was thinking, “Thank goodness!” But if I had known what a “douche affusion” entails, I probably would have said, “No...actually, I’ll just skip that one.”

She lead me to this room with a stainless steel bed/tray/shallow water receptacle covered in plastic. Overhead was a shower column spraying out water at a very high pressure. The entire room -- walls, floor, door -- was soaking wet.

“Hang up your robe and bathing suit,” she said. “Lie down on the bed.”

Wait, what? “My bathing suit?” I asked.

“Oui, enlevez votre maillot de bain,” she repeated. Then she walked out.

I hung up my robe, very slowly and reached for the ties on my bathing suit. I have no doubt my face was a sight to behold. Then I started thinking. I did hear “enlevez”, right? Oh my God, what if I didn’t hear “enlevez,” and she said something else? WHAT IF SHE SAID SOMETHING ELSE? And I take off my bathing suit, and she comes in and is like, “Why on earth is this woman standing naked in the middle of the room?” I know they’re French, and Americans think French people just walk around naked all day, but still. I’ve got to see these people for the next four days. I don’t want to be the anecdote. Not for that.

At this point, I had taken so long, she popped her head in to see if I was ready. Then she was gone again. Like lightening. And I’m still sitting there wondering what on earth I’m going to do. I really didn’t want to ask her AGAIN if that’s what she said.

Yes, I am this big of a baby.

I would rather be under the table than on top of it at this point. And that’s when I realized  the dang doors don’t shut all the way. They’re not wide open, but yeah, they don’t shut all the way. And boy, I’m committed at this point.

She walked in and said something blah, blah, blah, you can lie on your stomach, too. I’m honestly not even listening. I’m trying to keep eye contact, because if she’s looking at my eyes, then she’s looking at my eyes, you know what I mean?

So now it was me and this contraption. It moves up and down, spraying your body. There are a lot of times being short has its disadvantages. This was one of them. Because I’m not sure this thing was hitting, um, where it was supposed to be hitting. Or maybe it was. Gah. I don’t know. All I know is, within 60 seconds (first rotation), I was not even remotely serious or relaxed. I kept thinking, “Did M book me into the French equivalent of a Thai massage parlor? What fresh hell is this?” This is seriously not my idea of a good time. After I raced out of there laughing like the incredibly mature person I am, I happened to think....she said something about me lying on my stomach as well. Umm....was that what I was supposed to do? A quick Google search tells me, yes, that is what I am supposed to do. Some people are on their backs, but the vast majority are on their stomachs.

I am an idiot. Hope they enjoyed the show.

There’s plenty more to say about that, I’m sure, but I’m just gonna leave it there. Like I said, my skin not only looks super healthy, but it’s also insanely soft. I am petting my calves like they’re a rabbit’s foot.

Looking at my schedule, my next session is another “douche affusion”. For the sake of amazing skin, I think I can sweat it out. On my stomach.