Stairway to heaven

I was on my way to the road of Prozac (it’s an exaggeration, I know) when the partner decided to take me out of the house on Friday morning to have breakfast at the cafe which was 3 minutes away. Somehow we realised the plaza has two other diners, a decent size supermarket which stocks up lots of western goods, magazines included, as well as spas, among others. Anyway, while reading Time Out magazine, I found out there are a few salons within the area, supposedly hidden.

When we were done with our plateful of eggs, sausages and smoked salmon, the partner came up with the idea of enquiring the beauty spot in the plaza. We thought it was meant for the airline staff based on the name of the place, thus never bothered to ask. That day, he felt compelled to find out more about the spa and went to its reception.

Hmm, maybe I’ve added more wrinkles on my face and my hands were as rough as rocks that he thought it was best I got myself an overhaul.

Surprise surprise! It was open to public. Marvellous!

The partner decided to send me to boot camp and as the young lady wanted to tag along, I chose to have a massage which wouldn’t take too much time. I was practically telling the masseuse that I was in heaven, except from time to time when the lady popped into the room to ask question on her DSi puzzle game. *grins*

I thought my trip to the land of bliss ended when I left the spa. Imagine the look on my face when he said I should take the whole day off while he did all the housework.

Ah, he even made lunch; baked trout and grilled vegetables.