We’ve all had the dream where we show up to work or school naked, right?
C’mon you guys…please say it’s not just me.
(After consulting with Scott, Hayley and the dog, I can confirm that it is definitely not just me. Although Jolie’s night terrors involve not being naked. Dogs are weird like that.)
Last week, this nightmare became my cold hard reality.
Let me attempt to explain.
It all started out with a trip to Qua, the heavenly spa located at Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas. My good friend Lindsay introduced me to this luxurious retreat three years ago, and I’ve been hooked ever since. My favorite amenities include the chemical-free roman baths, cedar-wood sauna, herbal steam room, and of course, the arctic ice room, which actually drops tiny little bits of exfoliating lotion snowflakes onto your skin.
It is peaceful. It is divine. It is the definition of rejuvenation.
It is the real-life version of a Calgon commercial.
If Calgon commercials were naked.
It’s not a rule that you partake in the relaxation sans-swimwear, but the vast majority of guests do.
In my opinion, there is nothing worse than wearing a cold, damp swimsuit while I’m trying to get my zen on, so I always go without. It’s what all the cool kids are doing.
Turns out I’m like, the only cool kid.
It took about fifteen seconds of stares and whispers to realize that I was quite literally the only naked person in the joint. How lovely.
I’m usually not one to be squeamish about this sort of thing, but let me tell you, being the lone “nekked girl” surrounded by dozens of wealthy women in modest one-piece swimsuits will shake anyone to their very core.
Their very core.
Particularly when one of them is perched atop a heated stone lounge chair, glaring at you from behind her Bible.
I decide to own it. And by “own it” I mean run to the Roman baths and submerge myself until I figure out what to do next. I’m not sure what’s going on here…everyone has been naked the last two times I’ve visited. Did they change the rules? Is today national non-naked day? Is there even such a thing?
Fortunately, I soon see a familiar face. Tina, a fabulously southern 68-year-old woman from Texas had become my new BFF at Caesar’s pool the day before. When we both realized we would be at Qua today, an agreement to meet up had been arranged. Our eyes meet, and I give Texas Tina a quick wave and friendly smile.
She promptly pretends not to know me.
Pfftt. Oh and by the way? I was only pretending to like sweet tea yesterday at the pool. Take that, Tina.
At this point my skin has reached prune status and I need to leave the safety of the tub for my Swedish massage. There may or may not be gasps as I emerge. A terrible vision of needing to perform naked CPR on some poor woman who goes into cardiac arrest from the pure shock of my immodesty flashes before my eyes. The irony of this all is that I have no less than nine bikinis back at my hotel, but it would take over an hour to change and get back.
I enjoy my 50-minute massage (at which my lack of clothing is completely acceptable) and return to the roman baths, hoping to find a bevy of brave women willing to join my naked army. My delusion of grandeur is quickly squelched.
At this point the only thing left to do is laugh at the situation. This is when I learn a very important lesson. The only thing creepier than being the only naked person at the spa, is being the only naked person at the spa while laughing hysterically in the corner at nothing in particular.
Texas Tina is extremely disturbed.
I think it’s time for the herbal steam room.
The interesting thing about the steam room is that you can’t exactly see anything through the fragrant eucalyptus mist until you’re up close and personal. Imagine the reactions I got from the poor, unsuspecting souls who accidentally found themselves inches away from yours truly, naked as a jaybird.
Insert more inappropriate laughter (always worse when from behind a mysterious cloud of fog) and more traumatized spa-goers.
I think I’m going to go read now.
Upon finishing “The Water Wars” (it was OK, but if post-apocalyptic teen romance is you genre of choice…and why wouldn’t it be…”The Hunger Games” is far superior) I fell asleep on the mosaic tiled heated spa chair of serenity and drifted away into slumber. I’m pretty sure the song “Mr.Sandman” was playing in the background, but the lyrics had been changed to “bring me some clothes”.
I had a dream.
I dreamed of a place where my laughter would not be creepy and my butt would not be blasphemous. A place where there was no shame, no embarrassment and no bathing suits. A place where I would be judged not by the color of my tan lines but by the content of my character.
Yes MLK, I just went there.
When I awoke, believe it or not, everyone else was naked.
But not Texas Tina. Never Texas Tina.
Did I miss the memo about only going nude after 2pm?
I’m just glad that out of all the dreams I’ve ever had, this is the one God decided to let come true.
If this post gives you a hankerin’ to try a naked spa yourself, I highly recommend Olympus Day Spa with locations in Lynwood and University Place. They actually have a rule that you MUST be naked, so don’t worry, you won’t be the only one.
Oh, and all “I have a dream” stuff aside, if I see you there, I may very well pull a Texas Tina and pretend I don’t know you.
Really, it’s nothing personal.