I'm Glad I Shaved My Legs Today

It started out a crappy week: back to work after a little break, more work at work than I had figured, an impromptu departmental meeting related to things I'd rather not think about, a big screw up with an important package I was waiting for, and a hair appointment that was not recorded correctly by the salon.

I was supposed to get my hair cut (and colored, but don't tell anyone) yesterday afternoon. I made the appointment Tuesday morning. The young woman at the salon and I both expressed shock that this Thursday was already June 1! When I did not get the usual incomprehensible reminder voicemail on Wednesday, I wondered. So I called yesterday before I left for the appointment -- you know, just in case. Sure enough, no appointments. My appointments had been set for Thursday, June 8. My hair should look something like this by then.

One of the good things that happened this week is that I made an appointment for a facial at my favorite salon. It's been maybe six years since I've had the pleasure. Though I talk a big game with fancy hair cuts and getting my groceries delivered, I don't frequently get facials. Since I have not yet outgrown my acne, and since I found a nice lady at the salon, and since I have convinced myself that I deserve it, I made an appointment for this morning.

I started the day by attending mass. I know, I know. I'm a little surprised myself. It's a long story that goes back to my days in high school. June is devoted to the Sacred Heart of Jesus (the devotion of the nuns who taught me in high school). The Sacred Heart revealed 12 promises to St. Margaret Mary Alacoque (see #12). The twelfth promise is related to the practice of attending mass on the first Friday of each month. It's all actually pretty interesting. I've always liked old traditions in the church. The Sacred Heart did well by me way back in high school, I figured it couldn't hurt to rekindle my friendship with the ol' guy.

Mass this morning was also attended by our parish grade school -- their last mass of the year. I can't tell you the flashbacks that resulted! Wow. The uniforms, being seated by class, being monitored by strategically-placed teachers -- and the principal! The other usual suspects at an early morning weekday mass were present as well: the young man who can't figure out if he wants to enter the seminary, some ladies from the local shelter, some men who could benefit from a local shelter, a few elderly couples who attend mass daily, and, um, me.

I had forgotten how refreshing a simple, to-the-point mass can be. I had forgotten how miserable it was as a grade schooler. Today's gospel was the one when Christ asks Peter three times if he loves Him (three – it's a magic number). Instead of preparing a homily geared toward the ears, hearts, and minds of first through eighth graders, the priest gave a homily quite over the heads of the students (and probably a few others in attendance) about eros, filios, and agape. Actually, he concentrated on filios and agape and tried to "translate" Jesus' three questions into the Greek to make his point. Yowza.

Okay. I'm way off point here. What does morning mass have to do with shaving my legs? David keeps telling me that I would post more often if I would write short blurbs about my day. I am realizing that I don't ever write short blurbs.

So I attended mass in an attempt to rekindle an old devotional practice, reminisced about being stuck in a hot church before a long day of grade school in a hot building, and then headed to Julius Meinl for baked eggs and a mélange.

The Meinl visit was an opportunity for a nice (but far from quiet) breakfast and to kill time before my facial appointment. Ah, there we go, clean-shaven legs. I leave the café and decide to drop off the Metro at a tire place that we frequent for a long-needed tire rotation and oil change. I pull in, notice all the employees standing around the empty, open garage doors, think "Super! It'll be finished when my face is!" and park the car. I walk to the door -- it's locked. I walk to the idle employees and ask "Are you guys open?" Nope. They're not. In fact, they will never be open again. My usual basic maintenance place has fallen victim to the Brown Line expansion (as has my old, favorite hot dog place). With the tire place closed, only one corner at that three-street intersection is the way it was when David first got his place there.

That sucked. I was hoping to not only get work done on the car, but dropping the car off would also remedy the whole crappy parking situation in the old neighborhood. I worked it out.

I stopped in at our friend Vanessa's café and got a hazelnut coffee for the brief walk over to the salon. Nice. Hazelnut coffee and an impending facial on a beautiful Friday morning.

Have you ever had a facial? Bliss. Well, except for the zit-popping part. After putting on a weird, terrycloth wrap -- no other way to explain it, I was comfortably wrapped in two layers of sheets like a cocoon. Oh! and she put a bolster pillow under my knees. It would have killed David. He would have run screaming from the place. The lights were dimmed, I picked a scent, was treated to some aromatherapy, and the facial commenced. Almost sounds like a date, right?

So we get to the point when she paints layers of good-feeling stuff on my face while the steam is billowing over my humongous pores. She unwrapped the sheets from one of my legs, covered it with a hot wet towel, and rubbed and rubbed, and put lotion on and rubbed. Insert all happy ending jokes here. It wasn't like that. But it was so super nice. Leg and foot rubs are the best thing ever. And leg and foot rubs during an aroma-facial? Please.

I am so glad that I thought to shave my legs this morning.