Naked dinner
Yesterday, I dined in the nude. I ate my dinner in the spa café, completely naked save for a bright orange towel wrapped around my brow to keep my sweat from dripping into my microwaved chicken nuggets. A few other women ate with me, all with feet dangling in the warm water river that ran beneath our chairs, all with bright orange towel atop their crowns and breasts hanging free. Chicken nuggets and chopsticks. Naked bottoms flat against wooden swivel chairs. I ate my dinner with a bemused smile.
Later, I took another lap around the bath circuit. 10 minutes under the waterfall in the Atlantis room, a dip in the wine bath, a dip in the mint bath. I spent a few minutes in the rooftop Grecian bath to ponder the stars above Osaka, and far longer than necessary in the jetted massage tubs. Then finally, I rubbed myself all over with a rough salt scrub, scooped by the handful from a giant roman urn, and took a sit in the dry sauna.
I passed over all the cold water treatments completely. I've been swimming in Glacier lakes. (Remember that day… Christy, Dan and the old crew?!) I felt no need to recreate the painful experience in a spa, regardless of the sparkling temptation of the golden tub.
A year has passed since I last fell in love. One. Year. At work, I retreated to the back room to weep. But then my work was done and I rushed to the city spa to melt my body and fuse my heart cracks in all that steamy unrelenting heat. I walked home in the darkness, sauntering and singing. My joy restored.
 | Currently reading : Memories of My Melancholy Whores By Gabriel Garcia Marquez Release date: By 25 October, 2005 |
posted by Scribbler @ Friday, January 19, 2007
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