Hell, what do I do next!!
Leaving me with so much more time to play with that I usually fill my hours here with dozens of activities. Back in the city, it's tiring enough to even make it for a movie! Over here, I have cousins who actually go for complete spa treatments, shop for a new dazzling ensemble before dinner and a movie.
Now, what do you have to say for small towns now?
Still, I didn't do any of that today. Though my female cousins all made appointments for a spa treatment today. Not sure exactly why since we're scheduled for some sweaty cemetery housekeeping this weekend. Maybe they intend to appear as ravishing as possible while picking grotty moss and weeds off beaten gravestones.
I did get a haircut though, although that hardly counts. Have to admit that the hairapy service given here surely goes above and beyond the norm.
Not only did I get a haircut lasting almost half an hour oddly enough, I also got a cup of tea, some edibles and also a post-haircut massage that... well, if I overtipped just a little bit more I think I could have gotten an erotic Dance of the Seven Veils from the overenthusiastic hairdresser / wannabe masseuse. Halfhearted neck massages are fine by me and seems to be the norm but the slutty small town stylist didn't see fit to stop only there and though I managed to keep my expression straight when she reached lower down my back, when her scarlet-tipped nails started going below the belt I almost jumped off my seat.
I don't think I ordered a brazilian wax! Does it count as sexual harassment when the customer is molested?
That unusual incident didn't sour my small town weekend though since I found it ultimately hilarious - and certainly worth blogging about. Couldn't help telling my cousin Macho Mike though since he seemed to be the only guy around with the girls all off primping.
Macho Mike would be my stolid, bovine-like cousin who'd easily pass for a linebacker with his placid grunts and tank-like shoulders. When I started telling him more about the Dance of the Seven Veils, he gave another one of his unintelligible mumbles again and handed me his rod.
No. Come on, it's my cousin. Nothing as wildly inappropriate as that but a plain fishing rod. Seems like the man had decided that it was time I took up a manly sport - rather than my normal unmasculine pursuits such as shopping and disco-dancing.
Not gonna describe the whole horrific experience since I found it absolutely nightmarish - and I slept through half of it anyway. I mean, how interested can I be watching nothing nibble at my bait ( which Mike thoughtfully provided with the requisite creepy crawlies ). Still it was pleasant sitting by the muddy creek under the dappled sunlight as I closed my eyes with mellow Jack Johnson playing on my MP3.
Of course even as I write this, my evening is not done. Why heels? Well after the spa treatments, my pretty cousins all in a row came down in their fuck me heels for a night out. Lispy Lori even managed to squeeze her assets into an illegal dress that would shock even our incorrigible granny. Fortunately I have several younger male cousins cast in the same vein as Macho Mike who'd serve as proper bodyguards.
Haven't finished yet - though I begged off for a few seconds to blog. Last I heard there was talk of going for sangria and tapas.