I took the cup from her outstretched hand. "Yeah, I guess not." I wanted to add something biting in response to her "most people" dig, but feared she might punish me with another tortuous 50-minutes of exceedingly unpleasant muscle rubbing.
"Be sure to drink lots of water today." She instructed, before turning to leave. "You'll need to flush out all the toxins through your urine."
I cringed at her use of the word "urine," but nodded agreeably. As soon as she left, I drained my small sippy cup and immediately refilled it. Toxins? What sort of witch craft were these Burke Williams people practicing? And how did any sane person find this sort of thing relaxing? I had spent the entire session either gritting my teeth when my masseuse stabbed her bony fingers into my back and neck, or gripping the table with ticklish discomfort when her touch was too light on my sensitive nerve endings. And that massage she gave my head? Horrific! My hair and scalp aren't the moistest of environments, but they certainly should not have been making those horrible scraping noises when she applied pressure!
Heading back to the women's spa area (with another cup of water), I couldn't help but feel out of place. The whole "spa" experience was a bit off-putting to me. Even though the massage had been a birthday present (3 years ago), I felt over-indulgent, self-conscious and slightly like I was being kept against my will in some sort of cult-like monastery. The over-sized robes, dark corners, dim lighting, and ugly burgundy color palate only further enhanced that illusion, and I was eager to change back into my jeans and t-shirt so I could get the heck out of there.
Except, I really wanted more of the fruit-infused water.
As I chugged more than my fair share of the quality H20 stand near the exit, I cursed myself for not bringing a water bottle with me so I could take some with me to continue the process of flushing out the evil "toxins." I would have certainly liked to pilfer some of the delectably refreshing frozen lemonade shooters that were available earlier that morning. (I'd drunk more than my fair share of those too...)
I took one last sip of the precious liquid, crushed the cup in my hand and tossed it in the garbage with finality. I knew I would not be back in the torture chamber any time soon. Massages aren't for everybody, but, thankfully, food and water are.