She was born to a lovely Queen who fell immediately head over heels in love with her and vowed to give her anything her heart desired. The Queen loved Princess Lauren so much, in fact, that she spent an entire weekend hand-stamping these flowers on the walls of her royal bedroom.

It was a room fit for a Princess, and was loved and cherished by the Queen’s beloved child for many, many years.

Then one day, Princess Lauren exclaimed, “OMG! I so totally hate these flowers!” It brought the Queen much heartbreak to think that her beautiful little child was no longer charmed by the quaint garden on her walls. She tried ignoring Princess Lauren, then bargaining with her, and finally pleading in desperation — all to no avail. The Princess was determined to have a “Teenager Room.” The Queen was devastated.

But being a doting, loving parent, The Queen bravely began to cover the lovely flowers with a coat of bright blue paint. In the process, she created quite a mess, dripping paint on every surface of the room. Frustrated, she gave up and determined that she would need to pay someone to do the job for her. She was, after all, a Queen — what did she know about painting??

Then one chilly December day, she met a fine Knight in Shining Armor who swept her off her feet with his gallant gestures and penchant for sushi. She was charmed and before too long, invited him home to the castle to see where she lived. When the Knight came upon the half-floral, half-blue bedroom, his eyes narrowed and he asked what on earth had happened. The Queen regaled him with horror stories of being covered in paint and shuddered as she explained that she had given up on the room altogether. The Knight laughed and informed her that he was, in fact, quite talented at painting and would gladly repair the room for free. The Queen was no dummy, mind you. She said, “Yes, thank you!” and left it at that.

Months later, the Knight and the Queen were becoming a couple. They spent nearly all their free time together and finally got up the nerve to say the word “relationship.” It was lovely and the Queen was enjoying herself very much. But alas! The room remained in its semi-painted state. The Queen was embarrassed to ask the Knight what happened to his offer, so she just kept her royal mouth shut. Since then, the Queen has come to understand that the Knight is something of a procrastinator, but will always get to the task at hand if you wait long enough.

But I digress.

Just days before the Knight was to leave for battle in the Land of Texas, he surprised the Queen by announcing that he would be painting the Princess’ bedroom that day. The Queen left to address her subjects and figured that when she returned, she would see a little progress if she was lucky. Imagine her great surprise when she saw this:

It was a beautiful bedroom with hand-painted clouds on the ceiling and a lacy canopy under which the Princess could lay her royal head. To Princess Lauren, it was the ideal “Teenager Room” and worthy of the loudest squeal of approval. But to The Queen, it was so much more. It was a kind gesture from The Knight to her beloved child, and it made her fall in love with him even more.

And they all lived happily ever after.

The end.

And then they left me.

When I went through my breakup with CCB, I came as close as I’ve ever been to a nervous breakdown.  The rug had been pulled out from under me, and I was utterly abandoned.  I nearly lost everything that mattered to me — my daughter, my home, my job.  The depression was so oppressive that I could barely make it through a single day.  But somehow, I did.  I held fast to the frayed strands of my life and hoped that something would snap me out of it.  My dear, wonderful friends were the ones who did that for me.  They loved me and supported me and told me I was better than my current circumstances.  And slowly, I began to repair my soul, piece by piece.

But my peace — my comfort — my words.  They didn’t return.

Is it possible that I can only write when I’m content?  That unlike so many great writers, depression only serves to silence me?  I suppose that’s okay, and I should be grateful for the ability to write whenever it is gifted to me.  But oh, how I miss it when it’s gone.  How easy it would be to cope with life’s trials if I could find the words to express myself.

And yet, they always return.  My words are always in the background, sometimes dust-covered and neglected, but always there.  Waiting for me to trust myself and use them again.  Truly, what a blessing to know that they can and will return.

So what has changed, you ask?  What has brought my words back to life?? Well, I’ll tell you…

First, a kicky new car, 100% paid in full and belonging ONLY to me!

Next, an adorable daughter who is becoming a lovely young lady before my very eyes…

And last but not least, love…

Yep, that’s Music Man. Bein’ all Rockstar and sexy. He’s going to kill me when he sees this, because he doesn’t like that picture at all. But I do, and isn’t that all that matters?? I mean, it’s my blog, ya’ll… I can do what I want!

We’ve been dating for almost six months, and although neither of us wanted a relationship, here we are. And we are to-the-soul, ‘aren’t-we-disgustingly-happy’ happy. Lauren loves him because he’s silly and tickles her. And I love that my two favorite people are becoming best little buddies (picture tweaked with iPhoto, ya’ll — they don’t really look like that!!):

He feeds and waters my guinea pigs and dogs when I forget. He makes sure I have enough cash for lunch at work. He spends hours tracing my arms with his fingertips until I fall asleep. He drives hours without complaining just so I can see Them Crooked Vultures in Vegas, then soothes my angry temper when I spend half the concert staring at the stupid girl who is dancing and preventing me from seeing my beloved Dave Grohl!! And when my temper flares up and I’m inches away from decking her trailer-park butt and she gets her boyfriend involved because she’s askeered of me, he silences her punk-ass boyfriend with one look that threatens “You don’t even want to mess with me, kid” while I get the delicious satisfaction of seeing them flee from us in terror. He is The Awesome, people. He’s sweet and bad ass at the same time. He’s funny and makes me laugh every day.

Music Man, in a nutshell, was totally worth the wait.

A few weeks ago, a dialogue opened between Tyler and I that had a very familiar refrain. It went something like: “When do you think you’ll be moving here?” and “Honey, it takes time!” and “But it’s been three years!” and “I know you need me there, but you’re just going to have to be patient a little longer.” We’ve been down that bumpy road before, and it always ended with Tyler reassuring me that he loved me, that he very much wanted to live here in Utah with me, and that he would be here before I knew it. And every other time before, I curled up and purred under the soothing stroke of his hand and waited to see what the future would bring. But this time, I had a feeling in the pit of my stomach that it wasn’t true. A nagging voice in the back of my head that wouldn’t allow me to believe him. So I told him so. I very calmly told him that I didn’t believe that he had any intention of coming to Utah, now or ever.

He was silent.

This is how Tyler works. When confronted with something he cannot (or doesn’t yet know how to) argue, he clams up. Nothing. Not a peep. And that’s when I knew I had struck on the truth.

Two days later, he finally found his words and told me that he would not be moving here. Ever. He realized that it meant that our relationship was over and he was very sorry if that hurt me. He was quiet and solemn. No tears, no emotion. Cut and dry. When I pressed him to understand why, the best he could tell me is that he didn’t want to see his daughter less frequently than he sees her now. He said, “She would be fine, I know that… but I wouldn’t be. I would miss her too much.” And that, my friends, is an argument I will not win.

I love his daughter and miss her terribly. I know she misses us too (especially her dog, Sam) and I am saddened that Tyler chose this path that ended up affecting not just the two of us, but our girls as well. We knew years ago that in order to be together, one of us would have to sacrifice more than was comfortable, but that it would be worth it to have the life that we wanted – the family that we created together. I sacrificed as much as I could (legally), and it was up to Tyler to do the rest. In the end, he decided that the sacrifices outweighed the benefits. I can’t argue with that decision.

When the reality sank in and I began to understand that I would never see him again, I grieved mightily. I loved and still love this man with all my heart. He was, if there ever was a definition of the word, my soul mate. I know I will never find anyone as suited for me as him. That said, I believe that love isn’t enough.

I tried to hold myself together by the fragile wispy strands of sanity that remained, and I moved about my life with my head held high and only the red rims of my eyes to give away my inner turmoil. I found myself crying less about Tyler and more about the enormous outpouring of love and support from my friends. After the last post (and a quickie status update on Facebook about the stupid clerk at the grocery store commenting on the amount of ice cream in my cart), I received DOZENS of comments, emails, phone calls and texts – even a very thoughtful gift basket of ice cream toppings! Every one of those friends were saying the same thing: “We love you. We are here for you. You are beautiful and you are strong and you are loved.”

I am loved.

I found myself cuddling my daughter more, feeling her sweet breath on my neck as she curled up next to me and knowing that on this planet, no one soothes her better than me. I am her Mom. I gave her life. I nurtured her inside my body and fed her from my breast and no one on earth loves me in the same way that she does.

I found myself opening up my emotions more to my friends and finding that instead of cringing away from that, they opened up themselves to me in return. I have been held and comforted by women who have proven their love for me in ways I will never forget.

I have realized that even though most of the people who read my words have never met me, they care about me and consider me a part of their lives. The generous comments on the last post (and the phone number that I have yet to use) have made me realize that my circle of friends is larger than I ever imagined.

So here is what I know:

• I am loved.

• I am beautiful, inside and out.

• I am intelligent and kind and funny and a total catch for anyone who is smart enough to realize that.

• I am capable of taking care of myself and my daughter without anyone’s help.

• I am happy. And I sincerely hope he can say the same.

Thank you all from the bottom of my heart. You are by far the greatest group of people I have ever known, and I love each and every one of you.

Now. Let’s get on with life, shall we?

Number of items of Tyler’s that I have collected in a large garbage bag because I don’t want to see them: 8

Number of times I have told myself that if he doesn’t want to be with me, I’m better off without him: 1000

Number of times I have cried on a good friend’s shoulder: 1

Not bad, considering that I just lost my best friend. Anyone up for some ice cream?

But today is a better day. I have the weekend off and my baby is on a plane headed home from Ecuador even as we speak. She went on this Disney Adventures vacation with her Dad and his family. And I haven’t seen her in two whole weeks! I’m getting all my housework done now so that when she comes home, I’ve got nothing to do except cuddle my sweet little girl and hear all about her trip.

And if you were wondering about MY trip, here’s the scoop:

1. It was BEAUTIFUL! Turquoise blue water, white beaches – absolutely stunning! This was the view from our hotel room:

2. It was HOT! Over 90 degrees and so humid you couldn’t breathe. We spent the majority of our time lounging on the beach under a thatched umbrella, sheltered from the sun and loving the cool breezes coming off the Caribbean Sea. It was heaven, let me tell you!

3. We made new friends! This guy introduced himself by jumping into our basket of tortilla chips.

And this little guy was carting around his home and getting annoyed with us because we kept giving him mountains of sand to climb over.

4. We did some shopping and found some interesting items. I think these are candlesticks which begs the question, why would anyone want a penis candlestick?? Maybe they’re some sort of drug paraphernalia. I don’t know.

Maybe they would come in handy at this place.

5. We searched out amazing little places to eat. Whenever we go on vacation, our first goal is to find restaurants that are frequented by the locals – places that serve authentic regional dishes at a cheap price. Our first discovery was a little place called El Fish Fritanga. We read about it on the blog, A Canuck in Cancun, and we absolutely loved it. They had amazing shark pescadillas (who woulda thunk that shark was delicious?) and we loved their little “secret garden” next to the lagoon.

One of the odd observations, however, was that they had a shower right next to the bar that the locals apparently used after coming in from the lagoon. We were so unnerved by the sight of strangers showering next to us while we were eating that we just had to get a picture of it.

But I think CCB would agree with me when I say that the best meal we had in Cancun was also probably the strangest. We took the bus downtown to check out the sights, and chose this place primarily because they had a sign for Pepsi and I hadn’t had one in days! It was a little trailer that had a corrugated metal extension on it, large enough for three small plastic tables and six plastic chairs. The woman behind the counter didn’t speak any English, but we managed to convey our order with help from a friendly local. And to add another surreal layer to the experience, we were served by a little person. (I would have said “Mexican Midget” but I don’t think that’s politically correct.) We had a ceviche mixta, which included white fish, shrimp, squid and octopus. It was served with the most delicious homemade tortilla chips I have ever had, and it was insanely delicious! I don’t know the name of this little shack (I don’t think it was posted), but if you’re ever in Cancun, take the R1 bus to the end of the line, and when it drops you off next to the park, the shack is located on the opposite corner. We realized that we were taking our lives in our hands by eating marinated seafood from a nondescript shack in a foreign country, but it was so worth it!

All in all, we had an amazing time. So amazing, in fact, that we bought a time share and will be going back next year with the girls. And maybe (just maybe) we’ll get married while we’re down there again. Don’t get your hopes up or anything!!

And now if you’ll excuse me, my baby girl just called and said that she is minutes from my house. I have some cuddling to do! Later, ya’ll!!

and getting a massage in here:

and relaxing on the beach with this guy for seven straight days (with no kids):

Don’t be a hater.

First of all, before you freak out that I’m writing a letter to you on my blog, you should know that I really haven’t mentioned anything about you on here until now. I’ve hinted at certain things, but was never really forthcoming about our relationship or what you (we) are dealing with now. And while it may seem unusual… impersonal, even… to put this letter out here for anyone to read, I can’t imagine a more powerful way to shout my feelings from the rooftops, if you will.

We have had a tumultuous relationship, you and me. I know that I was a stubborn child who didn’t want to be told what to do, and you were young and inexperienced and immensely frustrated with me. As I grew into a teenager, my moods became more irrational and whatever passed for a civil relationship between us quickly began to crumble. We spent the remainder of my young adult years either fighting or avoiding each other, and soon found that we didn’t quite know how to reconnect after all the wounds had healed.

But then as the years passed, I began to understand what it must have been like for you. As Lauren tried my patience and made me want to pull my hair out, I thanked my lucky stars that I had waited until my thirties to have her because I had learned to be patient. I knew without a doubt that if I had given birth to her in my twenties, I would have been a different parent. And I started to understand that much of your parenting must have been colored by the fact that you were just so young. I’m sure you felt ready at 19 to give birth to me, but in hindsight, I think you’d agree that you were so unprepared for what was to come, and ill equipped to cope with it all. I’m sure I said things that hurt you… all kids do from time to time… but I think that because you were so young yourself, you couldn’t rationalize that and forgive me for it. I know you regret that, and so do I.

A few years ago, I found this picture of us:

I was struck by the expression on your face as you gazed at your new little baby — as you gazed at me. I realized then that no matter how difficult our relationship became, how many regrettable things we may have said to each other — at the heart of it all, we were still a mother and a daughter.

Lately, your health has been in decline. When I spoke to you on the phone the other day, your voice sounded so small… so fragile. You told me that when you went into the Emergency Room this last time, you literally felt the life slipping from you. I know you are scared, and I know you are worried about the future — about how much of a future you still have. Because I am an optimist, I choose to think about ways we can improve your quality of life right now and keep you with us a little longer.

At first, when I heard about your health issues, I was angry at you. I felt like your kidney failure was a result of malnutrition, which was a result of you not taking care of yourself. While I still wish you had been a little more proactive with your care years ago, I now understand that you never thought that anything like this would happen. I think you have been as surprised as anyone that your body didn’t withstand the stuff that was happening to it. I don’t think you ever saw your spotty diet as anything that could potentially hurt you. You were losing weight and feeling good about yourself, and it probably never occurred to you that you may have been doing damage to yourself. I hope you know that while I am sad that this has happened, I don’t hold you responsible for it anymore. I believe in fate or divine will or whatever you want to call it, and I believe that things happen for a reason. Everything that happens to us (whether we consider it to be a mistake or not) is predestined. This is the path that we were supposed to follow, and while the reasons may not be clear to us right now (and may never be), it doesn’t mean that it’s not our path.

You’ll notice that I used the word “we” in that last sentence. That’s because this illness isn’t just affecting you and Dad, though you are certainly most impacted by it. It has affected all of us. All of your daughters are scattered across the country, and there is very little that we can do to physically help you. So we send you good thoughts and offer up our prayers, and call you often to let you know we’re thinking of you. But it’s a rather helpless feeling for us. We are grappling with emotions that run deeper than this illness. We are seeing our relationships with you in an entirely different light, and learning to come to terms with the new definition of those relationships. In the past, we may have looked to you and Dad for support, encouragement and validation. Now it’s our turn to provide those things to you. And the reality of that has shaken all of us to our very core. Regardless of our past, it pains me to see you in this condition, and to know that you are quite literally in the process of dying. It frightens me, but not for the obvious reason. I have only ever defined myself as a person who had all her family in the background, ready to cheer her on no matter what happened. If you are no longer on this planet, how do I define myself? Who am I, once I have lost my mother?

I think that now that you’ve started regular dialysis, we should see an improvement in your quality of life. And hopefully, a kidney will soon become available and give you many more years with us. But in the meantime, I need to let you know how thankful I am for the things that you gave me.

Thank you for teaching me to be honest and true to my own mind and heart. It has led me down a different path than you would have wanted for me, but my life feels right and genuine to me now.

Thank you for teaching me to be kind and loving and generous with my time. I could not imagine my life if I hadn’t become a nurse, and I developed my love of nursing from you. I love caring for my patients and I receive a lot of gratification from knowing that I have made a difference in someone’s life, if even for a moment.

Thank you for disco dancing with us in the kitchen. Although our childhood was occasionally difficult, you still taught us how to have fun.

Thank you for sharing your taste in music with me. I have the coolest iPod of anyone I know.

Thank you for loving each of the boys that I brought home, even when they were dorks and you knew it. Whether you realized it or not, all of those boys served a vital purpose in my life, and that was to educate me about what I did and did not want in a partner, and how to be a good partner in return. All of those “mistakes” brought me to the place where I can have an amazingly pure and honest relationship with my perfect companion. Thanks for letting me make those mistakes.

Thank you for forcing me to babysit my younger sisters, especially when I wanted to go off with my friends. It taught me that family comes first, no matter what. It also taught me the finer skills of childcare, which have come in handy now that I am an adult. I am the Mother that I am because of what I learned from you.

Thank you for telling me that you were proud of me, and that I was a better nurse than you were. Though it’s never been a contest and I’ve never felt that I was competing with you, it was a humble moment when you acknowledged my career and my hard work. Thank you for noticing the effort that I put into being a good nurse.

Thank you for my life. It has been the most interesting ride, and though I have experienced many things that I would never wish on another human being, it has all led me to where I am today. I have a beautiful home, a fulfilling career, a smart, funny and loving child, and a handsome, adoring fiance who is my biggest fan. I wouldn’t trade my life for anything in the world.

We’ll get through this together, Mom. I promise.

With Love,
Your Daughter

CCB and I spent a quick Easter weekend in Montreal which began and ended with six-hour car rides in a sweet sub-compact courtesy of the folks at Alamo. You know what I’m talkin’ about – stiff knees, numb hineys, flipping through the channels on the radio almost constantly to find a radio station that will come in. Which leads me to my next comment. Hey, GM, wanna know why your stock has tanked and no one will buy your cars? It might have a little bit to do with the fact that your seats are about as comfortable as a marble bench, but with lots less leg room. Just sayin’.

So we made it to Montreal at nearly midnight, checked in to our amazingly beautiful room at the Hotel Vogue and immediately climbed into the big cozy bed and fell asleep as soon as our heads hit the fluffy pillows. See? Like I told you, TOTALLY romantic!

CCB and I are die-hard foodies, so first on the agenda was searching out amazing restaurants in the city. For brunch on Saturday, we found a delightful little place in Old Montreal for brunch, Restaurant Holder, where I was tempted by the Seared Apple French Toast with Caramel and Rum Sauce, but nevertheless chose to go with the special of the day. It was an omelet with homemade sausage and grilled vegetables with a gratin dauphinois and fresh fruit on the side. Delicious, and I didn’t feel guilty after eating it, so I’d say it was the right choice. CCB chose Eggs Benedict on a croissant and said it was amazing.

Dinner on Saturday was at La Brasserie Brunoise, where I had the duck confit and was proud of the fact that I did not lick my fingers or the plate. Willpower FTW! We went for the dessert, and I chose the chocolate beignets with caramel sauce which made my eyes roll back in my head. CCB had the vanilla panna cotta with a passion fruit and basil sauce. I tasted it and while I have always been skeptical about basil in sweet dishes, it was incredible and surprising all at the same time.

Our Easter Sunday brunch, however, was the highlight of our whole weekend. CCB found a review on Chow that had wonderful things to say about a small little patisserie by the name of Les Bouchees Gourmandes in the Outrement section of Montreal, so we decided to check it out. I have never experienced anything like it. It is owned by a lovely French Provincial couple – the husband stayed in the back and cooked while we were greeted by his lovely wife. She fussed over us like a grandmother, bringing us plate after plate of delightful treats. We started with croissants and the best homemade caramel sauce I have ever tasted, then the courses followed. First, fresh fruit (which we also dipped in the caramel sauce), then shrimp in Pernod cream sauce, then a trio of salads (a beet salad, a rice and herb salad, and a celery root remoulade), then roast quail stuffed with homemade sausage, then an omelet which was insanely fluffy and cheesy, followed by strawberry tartlets for dessert. Oh my! I cannot tell you how marvelous it was to sit there in this tiny patisserie on a lazy Sunday morning, reading the paper and chatting with CCB, and having course after delicious course lovingly prepared for you. It was heaven, I’m telling you. In fact, the next time I make it back to Toronto, CCB is going to have to drive me back to Montreal just so we can go there again. I don’t know if he knew that, but now he does!

We spent much of the rest of the time shopping and walking around the city. I love looking at interesting architectural details, and Montreal did not disappoint. Everywhere I turned, there was something to catch my eye.

We stumbled upon the Basilique Notre-Dame de Montreal, and because I absolutely love visiting breathtaking cathedrals, I asked CCB if we could go in. From the outside, it looked very much like a typical cathedral.

And the interior was just as gorgeous as I imagined. One of the more incredible pieces was this enormous spiral staircase leading to a pulpit. I pointed it out to CCB who nodded solemnly and said, “You know, they carved this entire cathedral from one solid block of wood.” It took me about 10 seconds to realize he was joking, his delivery was so dead-on. Dork.

The weird thing about Notre Dame, however, was the entirely commercial atmosphere. I have visited cathedrals in the past and it’s always been solemn and reverent… people lighting candles and praying and generally respecting the environment. But our introduction to Notre Dame was standing in line to buy a ticket (um, ok, we’re fine with that), and then walking in to the main cathedral. We began talking in whispers and were interrupted by a shout behind us from the woman at the ticket window. “That will be five dollars!” she bellowed to the poor customers in line. CCB and I glanced at each other and snickered. So much for the ambience. As we sat in the cathedral, we noticed that all the visitors seemed to be as quiet as we were, but the employees were calling out to each other and speaking in normal tones. It was surprising, to say the least. I guess when you spend every day there, it just becomes your job and loses all it’s novelty. But the real kicker was as we were leaving the cathedral. We saw this sign:

“Et La Lumiere Fut” means “Let There Be Light”, in case you were wondering. A holy laser light show, people! At night, they apparently rock out to the golden sounds of Pink Floyd. Or “Jesus is Just Alright” by the Doobie Brothers. Or maybe “Rock Me Sexy Jesus”.

In any event, Montreal had plenty of things to capture my attention. I don’t speak French, but the people were charmed by my boorish English anyway. And I learned a little bit. Like “Arret” means “Stop” and “Rue” means “Street”.

But the very best part of being in Montreal? Being there with this guy.

So yesterday was the day. I took the elevator in his building down to the second floor just like he told me and followed the maze of hallways to the spa. When I got there, I was greeted by a gorgeous Romanian girl who set me up in the foot bath and told me that someone would be right along to get started with me. A few minutes later, another woman came in and began my pedicure.

She had short, spiky dark hair with blonde tips and looked to be somewhere in her 50’s. She work black-rimmed glasses worn low on the bridge of her nose, and she peered over them to look at me. She spoke with a thicker Romanian accent than the first girl did and although she was friendly, she had a brusque, no-nonsense demeanor about her.

The pedicure was lovely, punctuated with her gravelly voice barking out commands: “Foot!” when she wanted me to bring my foot out of the water and “In!” when I was to return it to the bath. When it came time for the polish, she picked up the bottle that I had chosen and said, “This is what you choose?” I nodded, and she clucked her tongue and shook her head in obvious disapproval. I thought that was funny, so I smiled and suppressed a laugh. Her eyes darted to my face, peering over those black frames and in a harsh voice, she asked, “It is funny to you?” My face dissolved into a mask of solemnity and I quickly replied, “No… nothing’s funny.” I resisted the urge to add “Sir” and made a mental note to not joke around with this one.

She knew that my spa day had been a gift from my boyfriend, so she began to grill me about our relationship. When I tried to summarize by saying that we had two girls, she interpreted that to mean that he had fathered two children with me and still hadn’t married me. Because of the language barrier, I didn’t bother correcting her, but I should have because that became a point of contention for her later. At one point, she refused to allow me to refer to him as my boyfriend. “He make two babies with you, he is HUSBAND! You tell him to marry you!” she insisted.

During my pedicure, she massaged my calves and feet and firmly pressed her thumb into the soft flesh of my calf until I winced. Again, the eyes peering over the glasses and a brusque, “This hurt you?” I replied that it was a little uncomfortable, yes, and she replied with a solemn nod. She repeated the maneuver on the arch of my foot, which also hurt. When I confirmed to her that it was also painful, she met my gaze and quite seriously said, “This is not good.” She told me that she would “work on it” when she did the reflexology later, but I really had no idea what she meant. Oh, little did I know what I was in store for.

The facial began with an inspection of my pores under a bright light and a magnifying glass. She turned my face this way and that and then pronounced, “It has been long time since facial, yes?” I agreed and she replied, “Yes, I know. Long time. Lots of problems here.” Now hey! My skin is damn good for a 40-something-year-old! I have hardly any wrinkles, and while I still get the occasional (like 2-3 times per year) blemish, I pretty much have flawless skin. What the hell, Romanian lady?!?!? Here I thought I had awesome skin and she’s clucking over it like I’m a pizza face or something. But whatever, go ahead and work your magic on my tragically mistreated skin. She wrapped my face in something that felt like wet gauze and smelled like oranges. In hindsight, it might have been an acid peel of some sort because it burned the living crap out of my face. I don’t have any red marks to prove it, but I swear, I could feel spots on my face sizzling… SIZZLING, people! It had to have been acid of some sort.

But you know, I’m a tough chick so I endured. We completed the facial and moved on to the reflexology. She asked me if I had ever had it done before and when I said no, she replied that she would explain it all later. She massaged my feet and pressed on certain pressure points with her thumb and her knuckles for the next 30 minutes or so. It felt good most of the time, uncomfortable on occasion, but really didn’t impress me one way or another. After she was done, she came to stand next to my head and began to lecture me about the state of my body.

“What I am going to tell you is serious! You listen to me! You no touch bread, you no touch potatoes, you no touch sweets! You eat MEAT! Lots of meat! You go find a doctor because your thyroid is sluggish. Your left kidney is sluggish. But worst of all…” and her voice dropped to a solemn whisper, “Worst of all, your lymphs, they are blocked.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I just smiled and nodded. WRONG!

“You think this funny?” she accused. “This NO JOKE, Miss!” She went on to tell me that I had to get my body flushed out. I had to get it accustomed to consistent water intake, so she wanted me to start with one glass of water per day for the next week, then two glasses per day the following week, then so on and so forth until I was up to eight glasses per day. She explained that by increasing my water intake gradually, my body would get accustomed to it and it wouldn’t just be eliminated through my kidneys, it would flush out the toxins from my body.

Here’s the best part, though: she also told me to buy an exercise ball and bounce on it for five minutes, three times a day to clear my lymphs. Ok, crazy Romanian lady, I’ll do just that!

Interestingly enough, she was able to pinpoint where I have pain in my body and that I had a c-section and a hysterectomy before I said anything about it, so maybe there’s some truth to it. She told me that my weight gain and my fibro were all a result of this clogged lymphatic system. She said, “It’s not your fault, it’s all the lymph!” What the hell, I can probably bounce on a ball. Heh.

When she was done lecturing me about my health, she quickly waxed my eyebrows. It was the fastest eyebrow wax I’ve ever experienced and yes, my eyebrows are uneven as a result. I don’t much care though because CCB will never notice unless I point it out to him. Just when I thought she was done, she suddenly smeared the wax on my upper lip. I have a few blonde hairs there, but nothing that I’ve ever considered waxing, but ok… if crazy Romanian lady thinks it needs to be done, what the hell. And then… AND THEN… she took a little Q-tip like thing and stuck some hot wax IN MY NOSTRILS. I was all, what the…??? And before I could say a word, this woman was waxing my nostril hair!!! Have you ever had that done?? I didn’t even know it was possible, but there I was, hot wax up my nose and tears rolling down my cheeks. I didn’t even realize that my nostril hair was visible, but crazy Romanian lady found it and she took care of it, by God. Bless her crazy demented soul.

Later, when CCB got home from work, he stopped in to the spa to pay the bill and met crazy Romanian lady for himself. She gushed about me, about what a “gem” I was and then she scolded him. She said, “You make babies with her, you MARRY HER!” He laughed, but I think he was also afraid enough of her that he just might listen.

One can only hope.