Oh The Stress…

Writing does great things for the souls of those who engage. It does little to build muscle, strength, stamina or make you leave your home. Since it involves mostly sitting in a chair flexing one’s vocabulary it’s unlikely to develop buttock and breast muscles. And since this girl has gym aversion, the answer comes in the form of part time work.

It’s a manual labor type job—but not too difficult. Just enough up and down the stairs, lifting, walking, bending and flexing to hopefully restore stolen glutes and pecs.
Cancer not only absconds with muscle mass, the bitch also demands patients pay for the pleasure. As in money. Hard core cash. The docs say, “Don’t worry, just take some time off.” A girl can manage for a while but when those in the know add that recovery might be another year away, the bottom line is…time to get a second job.

So I did. In a spa. Squee. Because if you can spend your days doused in aromatherapy why would you say no? If days include double fluffy super white towels, how could you resist? It’s a day at the spa every day. Without the hot stone massage. Or the facial. Or the paraffin foot wrap.

I now create the cucumber water and ensure the ladies have everything they need. What qualifies me for this particular position? Years spent on the receiving end of hot stones, reflexology, eye treatments and scrumptious robe wrappers. I know exactly how to make the relaxation room relaxing since its one of my favorite places on earth.

Each bend, squat, lift and stair climb counts as glute and pec development and every paycheck counts as additional moola to satiate cancer’s appetite. Winner on all counts.

And, of course, flitting about in the background demands study of various characters breezing in and out of spa-land. There are ladies who spend so much time in the fitness room they ought to be able to take on Ronda Rousey. There are guests from afar stunned by Arizona weather. And of course, there are occasional snotty gals. But I can run into snotty at Safeway. It is Scottsdale.  I smile and make a wide berth just like at Safeway.

I’m told I have to try the massage treatments so I can speak with authority about each one. Same goes for facials.

Oh, the stress of a second job.


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