My job is killer busy. I spend all day in front of a computer screen answering the demands of clients that remind me of incessantly whiny children. I love my job. I really love my job. But, sometimes I need a little relaxation.
That’s why when I scheduled a hot stone massage for yesterday evening I had a little light at the end of my insane workday. I was able to make it through the chaos with a little smile on my face – envisioning an hour under the able hands of a masseuse – every muscle being heated by a smooth, warm river stone and then manipulated into putty.
You know what’s worse then a day that’s so crazy you forget your own name? Arriving at your massage appointment to find a CLOSED sign hanging on the door.
Really? WTF?! Here I am looking for a little relaxation, a little R&R, and I’m met with a gigantic CLOSED on the door? No massage for you, says the universe.
Needless to say I was livid. An hour and 2 extremely angry voicemails later (I almost felt a teensy bit bad for whoever had the pleasure of checking those messages) I finally managed to calm myself down. Thank god for good friends, otherwise the residents of NoDa may have experienced a pleasant warmth and glow from the historic art district, which I may or may not have considered setting aflame.
I called up my hero Sarah, ranted and raved, to which she calmly replied – “want me to meet you at Amelie’s?” (For those who aren’t from Charlotte, Amelie’s is the most adorable French bakery in existence outside of Paris.) Residents of NoDa, I suggest you thank Sarah and the proprietors of Amelie’s for saving your quaint little neighborhood from some serious arson.
Apparently I did something to piss off the powers that be. Perhaps that last email was a little rude, maybe I should have forgone flipping off the 70-year-old lady that was driving 55 in a 65. I’m not sure who up there has the sick, twisted sense of humor to deprive a career girl of her hot stone massage, but, OK, fine universe, I get it. I’ll be nicer from now on.
Here’s my fabulous new haircut, and my best, “no officer, I didn’t start the fire” look.