Our Spa Day Fiasco

How Terrible Can Sometimes Be Perfect

Photo by Fabian Møller on Unsplash

Every so often, a day comes where my disorganised wife turns into a battle-hardened strategist. These days are called birthdays, weddings, dinners, and nothing but the most total enjoyment is expected of me.

Yesterday was one of these fateful occasions.

My wife had booked us this romantic afternoon in an expensive Asian spa. A full private suite, with jacuzzi, sauna, hammam, a double bedroom, and individual ‘foam massages’. It even included the remarkable mixture of a plate of charcuterie and two coconuts with straws.

On the day and in the spirit of decadence, we took a cab to make our way. The spa was walking distance, but nothing would do but the most abject luxury. I hopped out of the sack that I usually wear at home and made myself as pretty as I could. Then we left our building, and from that moment onwards, absolutely everything went wrong.

For a start, somehow, our cabbie got stopped by the police. They took him away to their car... For a long time. In the back of the taxi, I focused on grinning like a fool, pointing that surely it wouldn’t take much longer. Fifteen minutes later, I noticed my wife nervously looking at her phone, we would be late. I proposed to walk it, but no: the battleplan was drawn, and we would see it through.

She hailed a second cab, and somehow its driver fully scanned that we were on a mission. Bless him, he insisted on driving us through this hotel’s private gate and all the way to the entrance.

Once in there, we looked for the spa. It felt like a long walk, deep into that massive building, and the further we went, the less glamorous things became. When we finally found it. Two ladies in kimonos received us.

They led us down into a basement. It was deserted and dark, there were neon lights and fat golden Buddha statues with nightmarish faces; but our suite was waiting. And pretty big at that!

My wife was beaming. She flew around like a butterfly, yearning to be shown every corner, to learn every detail. I drifted away and noticed the small bedroom. It had one double bed, no windows, no furniture and was boxed with bright red neon lights. I laughed and wondered how long it would take us to end up there. The lady disappeared and soon enough our charcuterie and coconut combo was served. We jumped into peignoirs and decided to go check out the hammam.

The cold non steamy hammam.

My wife was relaxed about it at first. She randomly punched the controls outside and declared it fixed. We stepped in, and as we waited for a while, I focused on visualising Switzerland, hoping it would help me look neutral... My wife did a commendable job at enjoying herself, despite the fact that this hammam was just not working. I think what broke her spirits was trying to lie down on the cold stone. Consequently, it was decided to switch to the sauna, which you guessed it, wasn’t working either, just like the jacuzzi.

My wife’s button punching became slightly more frantic and I feigned a great interest in the swan-like golden taps nearby... At this point, I knew the familiar expression emerging onto her pretty face: stealth would be the appropriate course of action. She summoned the kimono team and soon enough everyone was brainstorming buttons and programs and saunas.

‘It will be fixed in five minutes’ the staff announced and disappeared again

Sometimes, I wish I had my wife’s patience... She managed to wait for a full forty-five minutes before calling back.

The bad news was that they were apparently bringing a repairman from across town and he was on his way. My wife’s eyes turned cunning as she asked them to just leave us alone for the next hour. They apologised and agreed. She then took my hand and led me to the red neon bedroom, saying we might as well enjoy the wait.

That aspect of the experience went pretty great, and eventually, after perhaps half an hour, I stumbled out of that bedroom, naked, and ended up face to face with the repairman. Time seemed to stretch. I noticed that he was holding a toolbox, and he no doubt noticed that I was holding a coconut. To his credit, he took it in his stride and walked away as if everything was most natural.

We dressed up like two teenagers caught in bed by their parents. My wife was so stunned that she actually found it hilarious. She did lodge a mild complaint with one of the kimono-clad staff, who explained that they had knocked but we hadn’t replied…

In the meantime, our repairman was banging and drilling all over the place and to be fair, he did fix things. At long last! Hurray! Staff left yet again, and just as we let our peignoirs fall down from our naked bodies, two Thai ladies ran in. The foam Thai massages! We had forgotten about that.

And so we sat back down as the two masseuses proceeded to turn everything off all over again—these were wet massages, so the hammam and sauna were required. Fine—we had both reached a state of acceptance by then.

I slid into one of these covid-mask-like thongs that Thai massages invariably require. Foam massages were a first for us. They consisted in dripping lukewarm soapy water onto our bodies with mop-like-cloth and then scrubbing. It wasn’t actively unpleasant, but personally I felt a bit like a car being washed.

I also seemed to be the only one noticing that both the hoses used by our masseuses seemed connected to the same water tank. So every time my wife complained about being scalded, I knew I had a few seconds before my own stream turned to lava. Then my own masseuse would also compensate, roasting my wife etc.

By that point I had consciously decided not to complain, probably because the lady didn’t understand English. There was something tantalising about the experience, which led me to think of ancient Greece, then ancient Egypt and eventually about my failed vocation at being a monarch. I also considered this woman who was rubbing by butt pink with a mop. What was her life story? What series of events had led her to this fateful instant?

I started feeling a connection so when the massage ended, I stood with aplomb in my wiry, wet panties and attempted small talk while foam dripped down my chest. My masseuse did not understand me—worse, she seemed eager for me to fuck off from the hammam, so they could start cleaning and be done with it. Fair enough. My wife and I giggled like this was the funniest thing ever, and then slid away like two wet ducks on ice.

I finally got rid of the repugnant culotte but somehow managed to break one of the golden-swan-like taps in the process… I remember trying to put it back together before anyone noticed, the piece was full of glue, so at least I wasn’t the only to dismember that bird.

We decided to emulate the Thai ladies and be done with it. We packed up and said goodbye to our beautiful suite, wishing good luck to whoever came next. We needed to compensate with something base and vaguely repulsive, so we went to McDonald’s. Sometimes fat is the answer.

All in all and despite the fact that nothing went right, we had a great time. This episode truly reminded me of how the things we actually remember fondly are the ones where we struggle, where things go wrong. We'll surely laugh about that day in the future, a memory that wouldn't have stuck if everything had gone as planned.

I suppose that everything is a bit like this, whether it's loving, parenting, or writing. We always idealise things, and when our expectations aren’t met, it makes us miserable. But if we learn to recognise that life has this distinct, unromantic quality, which in itself is romantic in its own way, I think everything becomes so much more enjoyable.

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Before you go!

• Did you ever experience a disaster romantic day?

• Are foamy Thai massages supposed to suck or was it just ours?

• Do you also dislike wearing Covid masks as underwear?

Let me know in the comments.