I'll take "Life of Leisure" for $72, Alex

As promised, a tale about my day at the spa.

I'm not quite sure why I held on to a spa gift certificate for nearly six months before using it, but after all the sadness of the last couple weeks, the perfect time was suddenly nigh. I headed to Body Blitz.

My reminder message from them on Friday said they were expecting me to arrive at 1:45pm, even though my first treatment wasn't until 3:45pm. This time was so that I could use "the waters," which are a series of pools that are supposed to be healing, and, I assumed, have some kick back and relax at the spa sort of time. Sounded good to me.

As soon as I got past reception, I was in a tropical paradise. Not that the decor was lush, it was actually pretty streamlined and simple, but it was humid like an August long weekend in Ontario. Something I'm likely to complain about in August, but in the middle of February my only thought is, "Bring it on!"

In the pool area, which is the main part of the spa, they have a large sea salt pool, with soothing jets and little waterfalls, flanked on either end by a hot green tea pool and a cold plunging pool. There's also a steam room and a sauna, which are part of the water cycle. I spent the first hour doing the cycle, which was pretty cool. I felt like a limp noodle not even halfway through, which was exactly what I was going for. Plus I just felt so warm, from the inside out.

Then I was kind of done with the waters, so I settled on to a lounge chair around the pools. There was still 45 minutes before my first treatment, though, so I looked around for the stack of lovely, glossy mags. Nothing. Nothing!

(One of my favourite parts of my one visit to the ultra swanky Stillwater Spa was the hour I spent in a fuzzy robe, sitting by the gorgeous fish tank, reading Vogue while sipping cucumber water and eating biscotti.)

All there was for me to do during those 45 minutes was relax. That's a little too much time, if you ask me. Especially because it quickly became clear to me upon my arrival that almost nobody goes to this spa alone. There were groups of women everywhere. (Oh ya, it's a women only place.) It's one thing to strike up a conversation with someone else who is there alone, but breaking into the conversation a circle of women are having is much more difficult.

Did I mention that this place is clothing optional?

So not only am I trying not to stare at the women in their bathing suits, hoping that if I pay them this courtesy, they will not stare at me, I am really trying not to stare at all the flesh on display. Which leaves me with two options during my 45 minute rest period - close my eyes or look at the ceiling. (Thankfully it was an interesting ceiling, given that the spa is in a converted warehouse.) I exercised a bit of both.

Finally it was time for my massage! This was heavenly. The therapist didn't speak at all, except to ask me to turn over, so I nearly drifted off to sleep a few times. The only unfortunate part was the music. I am just not a fan of new-agey pan flutes and synthesizers. Or Enya. (Although my distaste for Enya is not nearly as strong as my irrational hatred of Shania Twain. Enya doesn't induce rage.)

And then - body bake time! I was having this mud treatment done, which was very different than anything I'd ever had done before. After I donned the oh-so-attractive paper thong, the treatment began with a full rinsing of my body with a portable shower head sort of thing. This was heavenly, since I was lying down. Nice warm water cascading over me while I was practically asleep. (Note to self: If I am ever disgustingly rich, hire someone to shower me while I am still sleeping.) But when she turned the water off, the heat lamp over top of me did not keep me sufficiently warm. So I was lying there naked, wet and chilly. Not such a good time.

Next she donned exfoliating gloves and sloughed off every bit of dead skin still clinging to my pasty winter body. (This required flipping over, which is surprisingly dangerous on a slick, plastic table.) There was more rinsing, drying off, mud application, rinsing, drying off and then lotion application.

Now, that was where my original reservation was supposed to end. However, I had been concerned about how I was going to wash my hair once my whole body had been expertly moisturized. So I asked at the front desk on my way in and they said I'd have to shower afterwards if I wanted to wash my hair and then reapply the lotion, some of which was available in the vanity area. But this didn't make sense to me! There was an upgrade available, which I knew about, that also involved a facial mud mask, a scalp tonic and a hair washing. For an extra $65. Before I knew what I had done, I upgraded, even though my gift certificate only covered my initial booking.

Anyway, the whole time I'm having my body mud stuff done, I'm wondering if I should try to get out before the upgrade. Try to cancel the head stuff. I was kind of feeling like I was done at that point. (It's was after 6pm already.) And I kind of had to pee. (A side effect of wearing a paper thong that is continually rinsed with warm water, no doubt.) But I couldn't figure out how to get out of it without insulting the woman doing the treatment, so I just lay there and let it happen.

It was the most thorough hair washing I have ever had. The salon times three, people!

All in all, it was a good treatment - and my body does feel remarkably smooth - but I wouldn't be rushing to do it again.

It was a great afternoon. The only other snag was when I tried to blow-dry my hair. I hadn't even thought to bring my diffuser, since I generally straighten my hair in the winter, so I can wear my hat easily. But I would never attempt to straighten my hair in the presence of serious humidity. Let's just say that I had some big, poufy hair when I met the boyfriend for dinner afterwards.

So, not counting the massage, which I will get back, I charged an extra $72 at the spa. To get my hair washed and have a little mud on my face. I'll admit, I regret the upgrade. That's money that could have gone towards my debt or into some spring clothes. And you can bet that I'm not washing my hair this morning. Not when I paid that much to have it cleaned last night!

More later, when I've lived this day.