Yesterday, I treated myself to a hang and and ‘pure bliss exfoliation treatment’ at a Korean Spa, in the hopes of cleansing not just my skin but also, you know, my brain, which currently feels bogged down with worry and muck both small and large. I soaked in a large tub of warm brown tea, and then a nice Korean woman in tasteful black underwear scrubbed me like a potato and washed my hair and put stuff all over my face with a smell EXACTLY like the lip gloss that came with Hawaiian Barbie, which sent me on a violent quest for pineapple right after I left. Oh, and I was naked. Everyone there (all women) were naked. We were all so very, very naked. It’s rare, but also kind of amazing, to be surrounded by nudity. Not that I was creepily observing the female form, but it was a reminder about how we’re all ultimately the same. We all have cottage cheese butts and scars from falls and surgery and strange moles and hunched backs and incongruities. We’re all imperfect.
EXCEPT OF COURSE FOR THE ONE VERY NAKED GIRL WITH THE PERFECT BODY STRUTTING SLOWLY THROUGH THE PLACE LIKE AN UPRIGHT SLOW MOTION GAZELLE. SHE IS PERFECT AND SHE KNOWS IT. HER BATHING SUIT BOTTOMS NEVER SQUEEZE HER BACK FAT. HER THIGHS ARE DISTANT RELATIVES. ONE DIRECTION, YOU COULD NOT BE MORE WRONG. THERE IS NO SUCH AS A GIRL WHO DOES NOT KNOW SHE IS BEAUTIFUL. SHE KNOWS IT, OKAY? LOOK AT HOW SLOWLY SHE DIPS HERSELF INTO THE POOL OF TEA. I MEAN COME ON. THIS IS A THING THAT SHE KNOWS.
But you know. Other than that. We are all the same.