After a run like that, I am pining for a long weekend at a dreamy spa somewhere, the kind where you wear a cushy robe, lie back with cucumber slices over your eyes, drink cold lemon water and work through the withdrawal symptoms of not looking at your phone, which is banned. But the dream and the spa and the withdrawals will have to wait, as I have a roof to replace, a car to fix, and a toe to mend. “Why don’t you take a hot bath?” my husband kindly suggested, sensing that I was more frazzled than a preschool teacher on Halloween.
“Honey,” I said, “if I slip into a hot bath right now, I might just slide down the drain and pull the stopper in over me.” He knew better than to respond. But he got me thinking.
If I can’t go to a dreamy spa somewhere, why couldn’t I create my own? I can close the bathroom door, draw a steamy bath, light a scented candle, and drink iced lemon water right here. What’s stopping me? Maybe because my bathroom doesn’t feel like a spa. One of the smallest yet most personal rooms in the house, bathrooms often fall short of their full potential because many of us (my hand is up) treat them like pit stops.
We zoom in and zoom out. But what if this transitional place — where we look ourselves in the mirror, bare our souls (among other body parts), and perform routine tasks of daily hygiene (please don’t stop) — were more like a sanctuary than a locker room? I gave my bathroom a fresh look, and asked what great spas have that many .
