Restorative therapy

I am heading into my last week of classes and exams. I have had a good term and great students, but we have pretty much worn each other right out.


So I am lining up some restorative therapy for myself. 


I know some women go to a spa and get wrapped up and steamed when they need restoring.


I did that once with my friend when we were at a convention in Vegas. We went to the day spa at the Hilton and ended up hysterical with the giggles the whole time because we, a couple of girls from Nova Scotia, had traveled all the way to the desert to get wrapped in seaweed. Made complete fools of ourselves in serious company so after we went out and had our fortunes told and then took our good pores out for Japanese food.


Off topic.


OK, some women go to a spa, or buy a nice bottle of wine and light candles. Not doing that because my husband has left me a case of his pretty-good homemade wine. 


And those candles. 


Do you ever wonder about those movies where they are in rooms  or around bathtubs and there are about 400 candles already lit? 


I mean usually it's some beautiful single mother entertaining Matthew McConaughey, and she has put her two year old to bed and she still has time to light all these candles before dinner. 


Or it's Meg Ryan or somebody in a bath recovering from her sleazy husband's affair soaking away in a gorgeous bath with at least 500 candles in different sizes all lit around her bathroom. 


You know just before the day where she shows someone her dress, this old thing I threw together, and they offer her a job as a head designer for Dior. So there sleazy husband.


OK, all I want to know is who lit all those candles? A single mother with a two year old? A woman who 20 minutes ago discovered she is dead broke and there never was pension fund after all? 


How long do you think it takes them to light all those candles? 


Who puts them out? 


Where are they stored between crises or romantic evenings?


Under the sink? I want to know. The back of the linen closet? Down the basement? 


Would you ask Matthew McConaughey to hold the two year old while you went down to the basement and got out all those candles from the shelf next to the Christmas decorations and that wreath that is mostly now only strands of glue gun glue and a few wobbly pine cones?


And don't they worry about fires?


On topic.


So this is why I am not soaking in bath surrounded by candles (and the combination of hot water and my husband's aged a full two week wine is probably not good for my blood pressure) and why I am not at a spa.


So instead I am restoring my soul with what I know will work for me when this week is over. This just arrived from Amazon:

And Saturday I am treating myself to a full day bra-making workshop.


It couldn't get any better than that.