On our recent holiday, the Beloved wanted to go to a spa one morning for a massage and pedicure. My normal male instincts kicked in, and I said I’d wander around town and come back. She said, “why not have a massage for your sore shoulder? and while you’re at it, have a pedicure, since they massage your feet, and we’ve been walking around a lot.” I said “Me?” She said, “Come on, it’ll be fun.” [aside - I share P.G. Wodehouse’s view that anytime the female of the species says that something “will be fun”, the male of the species should automatically go on high alert.]
So, you know where this ended up. I now have immaculately trimmed toenails (the young lady brought out the big clippers for my heavy duty male toenails, which the Beloved told me she’d never needed.) All callouses have been smoothed off, my toe cuticles are nice and tidy.
But the foot massage, that was the hook to get me in there, wasn’t very good.
But the important thing is - did you get laid? The Official Guy Code will excuse almost anything, no matter how questionable it might be otherwise, if it’s in furtherance of getting laid. That, or if you’re settling a bet.
Don’t encourage the boy!
Soon he’ll be getting weekly manicures. Drinking white wine. Patronizing theatre. Watching too much Cristopher Lowell. Pedicures are a gateway treatment!
Embrace your metrosexuality…as soon as I’m old enough to stop skateboarding and wearing pants that sag I’m going straight to metrosexuality…seriously because when I’m older I’d like to attract a woman who has got something going on.
Wow. Never realized how lucky I am in my marriage selection. 2 months ago I got my wife a full day spa treatment. In return, she bought me an 18 hole greens fee in Reno. With explicit instructions to buy a 12 pack of Lite and cart rental.
She had to drive back to the hotel as my knuckles were raw from all the dragging.
Wow, you may have run into my parents without even knowing it. They go to the Stratford Festival every year. They keep threatening to drag me along but circumstances never seem to permit.
Northern, somehow I can’t imagine that a one trip to a spa is going to turn you into a metrosexual. No other symptoms, are there? Subscribing to GQ? Buying cologne insead of wearing whatever Beloved gives you as a present? Planning your constitutional law conferences around getting to Vancouver, not Ottawa?
Oh, and hijacking…you were as close to TO as Stratford, and you didn’t give a call?
