At the Spa

I am just 90 minutes post-massage. I'm sorry, did that come out of the blue? I'm in Miami for a work-thing - a conference that eats up my three day weekend, but in return, plops me down in the middle of a first class resort and spa. Yes, there are meetings and breakout sessions and boring spells of standing in our booth making cheery small talk with strangers, but it's also in a really really really nice place. I got here, checked the exhibit hall to make sure the booth had arrived and was set up, opened some boxes (killed my manicure, too - thank god I'm in a spa - but seriously? I can't fathom spending $35 on a manicure here when you can get a great one for $8.50 in Brooklyn), sat outside and had a nice grouper sandwich with fries, had a massage, and now am sitting in my room waiting for co-workers to call to confirm dinner plans. I am really relaxed and feeling fine.

The spa is huge - this stone building up a long fountain-laced walk, with hundreds of "treatments" from massage to facial to body scrub to exercise. They shepherd you into a gender-specific locker/waiting room, and give you a locker key and robe and slippers. There was something very eerie about sitting around in a room of overstuffed chairs with a bunch of other women all in long white robes and green flip-flps. Like we were waiting to be Stepford-ized or something.

The masseuse said he could feel heat still coming off my ankle, which means it's not healed. He was really gentle with it. I feel like I should take a shower before dinner, but I am liking the soft oily feeling of my skin. We'll see how much time I have between when I get the dinner call and when we are meeting.

I hear there is supposed to be snow this weekend in NYC.