Jude: "Mom, I have some good news and bad news for you."
I grimace.
Me: "Okay. Tell me what it is."
Jude: Sigh. "Well I climbed onto the cupboard in the bathroom and I got down some floss so I could floss my teeth."
Me: "Is that the good news or the bad news?"
Jude: "Mom, that's the goods and the bad news. Don't you get it?"
Me: "Did anything fall off the shelves or did you get hurt?"
Jude: "No, mom. You're frustrating me!"
Me: "Okay, so that's the good news and bad news then?"
Jude: "Yes."
It occurs to me after this exchange that my four year-old doesn't really get the concept of good news, bad news. He heard the phrase somewhere and thought he'd try to use it. It's the natural progression, I guess, from word misuse to now, phrase misuse.
The good news is that he flosses his teeth. The bad news is that now he's mad at me.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Cat and Edwin
These two might give me a look of recognition each time they see me, but certainly I am not a regular at their place of business. They are only a rare indulgence, Edwin slightly more often than Cat. I relax in the waiting room with my cucumber water and magazine awaiting each of their services.
I start with Edwin. He wasn't my first, but my second, and now, my only. He shows me into his room and invites me to lay down. Edwin inspects my face thoughtfully then begins. A brow wax was something I never considered until a couple years ago. I still only go once in awhile, not often enough to maintain the look. Every time I partake I explain to Edwin, "more angular than archy. Not too thin." He smiles as if to say, "honey, you are paying me a lot to do this because I am an artist. A little respect please." And he deserves it. I always feel a hint of sexy when Edwin is done with me.
I move on to the next waiting room dressed only in a robe that is in constant need of retightening. But the lights are dim and the foot bath is exotic. Cat greets me with a low, subtle voice the way massage therapists do. We pick an aroma oil for the room. I'm not here for a typical massage, but a shower massage. Since my first, I have found it impossible to have any other kind.
Cat begins by brushing a hot oil treatment through my hair. My scalp feels invigorated. The next sensation comes from warming oils with sea salts slathered over my skin. Each part gets just a little chilly as it is left behind, strangely creating a wanton feeling. Cat holds up a towel so I can modestly turn over, and the routine begins on my back side. Afterward, I lay in silent anticipation, then the magic happens.
Cat starts with a high pressure nozzle spraying a concentrated stream over my legs, back, sides, head and neck. It's hot, almost too hot. I love it. My face is comfortably tucked into the head rest surrounded by towels, so I breathe easily. Eventually the rain storm, as I like to call it, begins. A multitude of shower heads lower over me and a million pinpricks of water enliven my skin. When it becomes almost too much to handle, I am refreshed by Cat sprinkling cool water in the mix. This is not the best example of how to save the Earth one could find, but somehow I just can't care. I find myself imagining a place in nature I could somehow sleep in a hot rain storm while breathing comfortably, wondering if such a thing exists. I am startled back to consciousness as I hear myself let out a sigh of satisfaction. Cat can't hear me over the cascading water, but if she could I'm sure she would be use to the sound. If she whispered to me "Carrie, we are about to be joined by a group of strangers who will be viewing the remainder of your massage," I'm sure I wouldn't move. I could maybe manage an "mmm hmm." This is magical.
When its over, I lay there with my skin throbbing pleasurably and nothing more than a small, wet towel wedged in my crack. Modesty evaporated. I dress, I pay, I drive away. Then I laugh about how ridiculous a wet towel in your crack is.
I stop at the grocery store for a few things. I am absolutely positive the pharmacist, the patrons, the check out lady are all noticing how gorgeous my eyes look and how my skin is glowing-nevermind my ripped up sweats, dirty tennis shoes, mismatched winter wear and hair like a rat's nest. I am alive today and beautiful.
I get into bed relaxed and ready for wonderful dreams. And then I get one more laugh out of the crack towel.
I start with Edwin. He wasn't my first, but my second, and now, my only. He shows me into his room and invites me to lay down. Edwin inspects my face thoughtfully then begins. A brow wax was something I never considered until a couple years ago. I still only go once in awhile, not often enough to maintain the look. Every time I partake I explain to Edwin, "more angular than archy. Not too thin." He smiles as if to say, "honey, you are paying me a lot to do this because I am an artist. A little respect please." And he deserves it. I always feel a hint of sexy when Edwin is done with me.
I move on to the next waiting room dressed only in a robe that is in constant need of retightening. But the lights are dim and the foot bath is exotic. Cat greets me with a low, subtle voice the way massage therapists do. We pick an aroma oil for the room. I'm not here for a typical massage, but a shower massage. Since my first, I have found it impossible to have any other kind.
Cat begins by brushing a hot oil treatment through my hair. My scalp feels invigorated. The next sensation comes from warming oils with sea salts slathered over my skin. Each part gets just a little chilly as it is left behind, strangely creating a wanton feeling. Cat holds up a towel so I can modestly turn over, and the routine begins on my back side. Afterward, I lay in silent anticipation, then the magic happens.
Cat starts with a high pressure nozzle spraying a concentrated stream over my legs, back, sides, head and neck. It's hot, almost too hot. I love it. My face is comfortably tucked into the head rest surrounded by towels, so I breathe easily. Eventually the rain storm, as I like to call it, begins. A multitude of shower heads lower over me and a million pinpricks of water enliven my skin. When it becomes almost too much to handle, I am refreshed by Cat sprinkling cool water in the mix. This is not the best example of how to save the Earth one could find, but somehow I just can't care. I find myself imagining a place in nature I could somehow sleep in a hot rain storm while breathing comfortably, wondering if such a thing exists. I am startled back to consciousness as I hear myself let out a sigh of satisfaction. Cat can't hear me over the cascading water, but if she could I'm sure she would be use to the sound. If she whispered to me "Carrie, we are about to be joined by a group of strangers who will be viewing the remainder of your massage," I'm sure I wouldn't move. I could maybe manage an "mmm hmm." This is magical.
When its over, I lay there with my skin throbbing pleasurably and nothing more than a small, wet towel wedged in my crack. Modesty evaporated. I dress, I pay, I drive away. Then I laugh about how ridiculous a wet towel in your crack is.
I stop at the grocery store for a few things. I am absolutely positive the pharmacist, the patrons, the check out lady are all noticing how gorgeous my eyes look and how my skin is glowing-nevermind my ripped up sweats, dirty tennis shoes, mismatched winter wear and hair like a rat's nest. I am alive today and beautiful.
I get into bed relaxed and ready for wonderful dreams. And then I get one more laugh out of the crack towel.
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