Spa for the Psyche

I've been whoring myself out lately, ya know because I'm a Hussy and all and because a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. The change bucket has gotta get filled somehow. But the whole selling one's body thing is a bit tough on the psyche. Paul Bunyan's sick of my persistent pout. And I have to admit I am to.

I had a little therapy this weekend. At the spa. Yea, no facial. No massage. No hot tub. I had a spa evening for the soul. Let me take you there...



You have to pass the familiar sight of blue tubing. Sweet juice flowing with gravity.




And duck under plastic pipes that cross over the road.



And do a little dance with the ruts...all in their infancy.




And see the welcome committee.




With their welcome banter.



And their welcome dances.



And their welcoming, beautiful, slobbery kisses.




And gentle nudges. One will never feel more welcome at another spa than at this one. Well, unless you hate dogs.




This is where the story in my head starts....with this view.



And she is sitting with me.



On a seat like this.




And we're looking at this, except that its painted pink by the setting sun.



But to get back to my spa night- I got to see some of these.



Even though it has a rat tail, it's still cute.



And this thing is usually running- even if it's not that cold out. To heat the soul- even if the soul is too cold to heat.




And the kids...they sorta get lost in the cracks and even though they rode up the hill with you, in your car, you sorta forget that you're there with them. This is super food for the psyche, like wheat grass is for the body.




And even though you might sorta want to forget what Paul Bunyan might look like with a mullet, you're not going to avoid it at the spa for the psyche. Nothing feeds the soul like a good laugh or a Lablatt Blue. Unless you like local beer, like I do, and then you don't touch that shit from Canada with a ten foot pole, or your husband for that matter, if he looks like this.



At the spa, you're surrounded by greatness.




And great love.




And great toe heads. Or straw heads.



And the tables around these parts are never empty for long.



Because a little Annie's Mac and Cheese...





goes a long way. Especially if you don't have to make it and you can just sit and watch someone else do the work.



And you can just curl up and do one of these.




Or snuggle with one of these snoring things.


Or just be, which is all I do at this spa.

And now I'm all rejuvenated and ready to hit the street corners and back alleyways again. But don't worry, there's no kissing involved. It's mostly just scanning. Town records. And mortgage statements. But it sorta sucks the soul right out of me. So, Mud? Whatja doin on Friday?