Spa day

So my parents got my a spa day for finishing law school classes. Now, I am very wary about certain things, namely:
--public nudity;
--people touching me while naked;
So the spa thing may not have been the best way to relieve stress.

When I made the appointment, the receptionist asked "Do you want a man or a woman doing your massage?" Now, I could add to the list of things that make me nervous:
--talking, being touched by, or interacting with a man in general;
So I think you can guess my answer. When I showed up at the spa, there are like three or four gorgeous men walking around and I'm literally starting to turn around to forget the whole thing when one of them said "Do you have an appointment?" I nodded and he took me back into the spa sanctuary. He led me into a room with a bed and he pulled the covers back. I had to remind myself to breathe. Finally he said something about what to do next but finished with "....and Cindy will be in here shortly". Phew. But as he was leaving I realized I didn't know what I was supposed to do. Was I supposed to take my top off? Every time you see a massage on TV they are lying on their stomach with their top off. So after a few moments panic, afraid "Cindy" was going to come in with me standing half naked in the middle of the room, I took my top off and hurled myself into bed. The bed had this weird pillow that came about half way up my legs that was really uncomfortable and the covers were turned down so they were smushing things. Just when I am beginning to doubt my position "Cindy" walks in. Stifling a laugh, she says "I'm going to leave the room again. When I leave, I want you to lie, face up, under the covers." As she is shutting the door she lets the giggles escape. So that's why the cute guy turned down the covers. And apparently that weird leg pillow was supposed to go under my knees. Oh well.

After Cindy was through laughing at me she said that the bones in my face are higher on one said than the other. I've been walking around for 24 years with a crooked face. Maybe this explains everything. She also said I needed a facial to get rid of the dead skins cells on my face. I wanted to say the dead skin cells should feel right at home on my crooked face, but I kept my mouth shut because that point she was kneading my shoulder and my left arm had gone numb.

As I was leaving the spa, with a bruised body and and a battered ego, I heard a familiar voice: "Thoze eyebrowz are are bushy az ehva, like Groucho Marx". It was my waxologist. In my weakened condition, I could not even put up a fight as she walked me back to the land of molten sticky goo while she decimated my eyebrows. As she ripped the last piece of, grinning (or grimacing? it's hard to tell with giants) she said "You know vat? You have eenuf eyebrow hairz that I ripped out to donate to vimen who don't have any." Then she got up and taking the pieces of material that contained the other two-thirds of my eyebrow and said to one of the men "Look at thees, it lookz like an entire eyebrow?" I was going to say something about keeping her giant Kuchen hole shut, but I was too busy admiring my crooked face with my perfect eyebrows in the mirror.