A spa or salon is generally supposed to make you feel serene, zen, pampered, beautiful.
At least I expect this every time I walk through the doors, and then it quickly goes to shit. I become agitated and feel like a tub o’ lady lard.
The problem? The chintzy, flimsy smock I’m invariably expected to wear. While I’m a busty gal and currently a few pounds over my fighting weight, I always hope that the salon's robe is going to cover my ass, not to mention my glorious ta-tas.
Not so much. I’m expected to cloak myself in a black or iridescent flame-retarDONT kimono-type dealio, “cinched” with a thin fabric tie. Aside from being wildly unflattering (and yes, cold), the robe gapes before I even leave the dressing room, causing me to clutch at my chest in hopes of avoiding a Janet Jackson moment.
Add some snaps and buy a few bigger robes, you cheap fucks, before I flash my fist at you and smack your smock back to Asia, from where I'm sure you ordered it. Namaste.
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6 comments:
Maybe you could bring your own personaly selected robe next time. Some of the other women might see you in it and want their own. I know! Craft your own!
Full service salons should supply full coverage robes. Cozy ones and slippers, too. And damn it! They better be warmed up.
I'm so with you on this one lady! With the money I shell out every year the least they can do is provide something that covers my form.
As someone with ample "ass"ets and a bosom to match, I applaud you for this rant. I too think the phrase "one size fits all" should be relegated to the list of four letter words!
I personally have no experience with salons, and am surprised that one is provided a little thing to be worn for the duration of his or her stay. I assumed that salon clientele received what I've always believed to be "the full treatment." Guess I was wrong all along.
I can empathize with you. Am not exactly thin, either, and sure as hell wouldn't be comfortable wearing a smock that shows more than what I'm normally comfortable with.
I get a nice full-coverage smock at 13 Boston, thank goodness. (At previous places, the kimono kind has made me a flasher, too, even though I have the opposite chest problem-- they just flop all around on me.) I also love that Vanessa at 13 Boston doesn't swaddle me in a constrictive neck-towel-boa the way some stylists do, but she also never lets the little tickly trimmings worm their way into my clothes under the smock. Pure magic, I tell you! No punching with my haircuts... phew.
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