E treated Katy and I to a mini spa day on Saturday. The treatments were lovely, as was the fondue we had for dinner, but the best part was, always happens when we two get to spend more than 5 minutes alone, my laughing muscles were absolutely burning by the time we got home. Damn, poop and rashes are funny.
So the day spa we went to offered "Colon Hydrotherapy." Now--I generally don't knock something until I try it, and maybe I should, as according to this guy what doesn't kill me makes me a funny mother fucker, but Katy and I share some concerns about the day spa/colon hydrotherapy thing. First of all, shouldn't, I don't know, a DOCTOR be the person hydrotherapizing my colon? I mean, I have all respect for esthetician, cosmotologists, massage therapists, and the like, but if you're going to stick a hose up my ass, I'd prefer that you have at least a four year degree. Second--I'm not completely sure about the set up, but I just can't imagine any setting, including one with a gently trickling water fall and white Christmas tree lights and new age music, where I could feel ok letting a stranger (or even someone I know, really) STICK A HOSE UP MY ASS. The third through 100th reasons have to do with what happens during and after my colon is hydrated, and the results there of.
On the way home, after exhausting the hilarity of colon hydrotherapy as a subject, we moved along to itching. Katy mentioned that itches have no purpose--and as such, should not have been part of creation. I argued that the purpose of an itch is to inform one of a rash, or infection, or other minor skin malady. Katy suggested that perhaps a noise like a hum or slight glow, or perhaps some other signal would be a better idea. Right. So I'm standing at work, in front of a dozen or so teenagers, mostly boys, and get one of those sudden, painful, very centralized cooter itches. You know ladies, the kind where you grit your teeth and don't scratch, but sort of internally howl and attempt to subtly shift around in a kind of kegelish way--like that will help. Only, instead of an itch, a blinding light shoots out of my crotch, or better yet, it goes off like a smoke alarm. No thanks. I'll stick with the itch.
Today's best thing about being a mom:
This wasn't today. It was Sunday. Are you sitting down? Sophie slept in until 9:00!!! Guess what that means? So did I!! Ah sleep. Sweet nectar of the gods.
Today's worst thing about being a mom:
Anamatronic Care Bear (Funshine) dressed as an aerobics instructor that sings "Let's Get Physical."