Madame Tishka on Love & Spas
Dear Madame Tishka,
Last week my boyfriend and I went to Greece. Now don’t get the idea that we’re filthy rich. It was a business trip for him and I went along on his mileage points (we had to fly coach). It was such a long flight and those little seats, well, very cramped. And the couple in front of us kept their seats pushed all the way back! Even during meals! Try eating that airline slop with two inches for your plastic knife and fork. When we got to the hotel we felt so tight. Like we came in a box. So my boyfriend (Gus) said we should get a rubdown. The brochure called it A Couples Massage. In the hotel spa they gave me a male massage-person and Gus a female. We were on tables a few feet apart. My massage guy kept clicking his fingers above my body. Like he was getting ready to play the castanets. Finally he started to massage and the next thing his finger (or fingers) happened to flick an area between my legs! I freaked! Totally! I jumped naked off the table (well clutching the skimpy towel) and shot out of there. Gus stayed. Right there and had his massage. He refused to discuss it afterward. I was upset and didn’t talk to him the rest of our stay. The trip was totally ruined.
signed Trip totally ruined
Dear Totally ruined,
Spas spas spas. The couples massage. A tricky concept at best! Tishka herself has just returned from a long vacances where she indulged in a spa visit at Baden-Baden. As guest of the immeasurable Mr. Marcus Speh. Ah! But to get back to your spa dilemma. Essentially, you have been ruined. Gus is not the innocent gentleman he purports to be. He knew what the couples massage implies. The moment that finger clicking massage guy started his routine, Gus should have jumped off his table to protect you. You were totally correct in leaving. Gus is a man of secrets. The crystal ball shows me that you are very lovely in the way of an untouched princess. That, dear ruined, means that though you may have been touched by man or men or beast, you will always remain untouched. It is your special karma. Know this and be protective of the gift. (Gus would be better paired with a stripper or porn star).
Blessings, Madame Tishka
Dear Madame Tishka,
Since winter I have been feeling ugly, out of shape, just a total mess. My toenails are curling and my cuticles are bitten off. My hair looks fried. It’s been a rough winter. So when I saw an ad in the paper for spa-day, I thought, Charlene, you need to do this for yourself. Get out of your rut. But I didn’t expect so many perfectly gorgeous women to be there. I thought they’d all be like me, a wreck. The spa ladies and even the spa workers looked down their noses at me. I guess it didn’t help things that I went without shaving my legs. Or my underarms. After a spa worker scrubbed me down with a rough sponge (like a dog) she took this long hose and squirted me like an elephant at the zoo. It was horrible. So much water pressure! I actually backed up against the wall! It cost me $325 for this torture. I am thinking of suing. Do you know any law firms that specialize in spa torture?
signed Tortured at the spa
I’m afraid you are a most naïve young woman. I cannot imagine showing up at the spa without first shaving all the important areas! Did you expect the spa workers to whip out the Rapid Shave? Did you expect them to enjoy their task of scrubbing and hosing someone who looked like a hairy ape? The days of the Womens’ Movement and body hair are so over. You need to come into the real world, Charlene (if that is your true name, which I doubt). Perhaps you might have told the spa worker to lower the water pressure. It’s a small thing, but would have made the Swedish hose (the correct terminology for that procedure) most delightful instead of torturous. I have consulted the crystal, Charlene. It tells me that you are your own worst enemy. It tells me you need weekly hair and nail appointments. That you should buy an electric razor (less harsh on the skin). But deep down, Charlene, the crystal advises that you need love in your life. Not a lawyer (besides they are known to often approach their female clients). Then you’ll be writing me again with your lawyer dilemma! You need to clean up your act!
Dear Madame Tishka,
I’m one of these men who knows that money talks and bullshit walks. How do I know this? Experience. I have been out in the world and I have lived. People are out there but they don’t live. They just veg. You know? So anyway, Madame, I have come to a fork in the road. My wife and my girlfriend have uncovered each other. Or should I say they uncovered me? How could I know they’d both show up at the Red Door Spa on the same freaking day? How could I know they’d get in a chat during a mud bath? Who could talk soaking in a tub of mud? Well I guess I have my answer. One thing led to another. They both discovered they know me. Really well. Then my wife discovered that my girlfriend lives two blocks down from us on Park Avenue. Compliments of me. To make a long story short, I get home last night and I’m dog tired and I find an empty co-op. All the furniture gone. Except the bed. I pull down the coverlet and sheets and the bed is filled with a truck load of mud! Black thick ugly mud. Mud in my priceless antique Louis Quatorze bed. A note scotch taped to the headboard. It says: You are so dead.
signed You are so dead
Hmmm… And hmmm again… Well. It is most definitely your fork in the road. A quite muddy road, I would say. But did you think your little Park Avenue adventure could go on forever? Why didn’t you put the girlfriend in another part of town? Even a few blocks over, say the 60’s off Lexington. Not too shabby. Tishka would die to live in the 60’s off Lex. But getting back to your dilemma, dear dead. It only took a moment of consulting the crystal to see that you are another person who wishes to self-destruct. NYC and all the major metropolitan areas are loaded with self-destructive males. Golfers, politicians, movie stars. All on the brink of Armageddon. The crystal shakes when I hold it to my heart. Its lightning strikes with a violent, turbulent energy. You men who are the movers and shakers cannot live without strife. It keeps your blood flowing. Have your staff (I’m sure it’s large) get rid of the mud. Buy new furniture. Pay your debts to your wife and mistress. Then move along to your next crisis. There will be many. Until you are truly dead and on the other side. But don’t despair. I hear that trouble can be made on the other side, too!
Cheers! Madame Tishka