HotHouse Musings
I very occasionally get a chance to take myself out to my little place of bliss in the city called The HotHouse. This tiny oasis in the middle of the din of Capitol Hill is a women's spa and sauna consisting of a hot soaking tub, a cold plunge, a lavender-scented steam room, a dry sauna, and heated-floor relaxation area. All told the place is probably 700 square feet but it's just enough for what it is. While you're there you can drink your fill of filtered water with fresh lime wedges or pay extra for a hot stone massage from one of the highly capable masseuses. All this relaxtion for only $12 and a lock deposit.
It's really soothing to be able to just go and hang out naked in amiable silence with other women. In fact, i love that the place seems to help women shed their usual misgivings about their own bodies. That said, part of my delight with the HotHouse is that usually there's women off all shapes and sizes just letting it all hang out. Skinny little legs, big poochy bellies, crazy curly hair, jiggly backsides, old, young, and everything in between. It's wonderful to see this cross section of ladies shedding their clothes for an hour or two warm relaxation.
However, this Wednesday, when i took myself to my steamy sanctuary it seemed that i was the only there with junk in her trunk and canyons etched on her belly. For a minute i wondered if there was a women's college volleyball team that decided to take the place over. Not that the HotHouse was crowded beyond belief but of the 5 or 6 other women (ahem, girls i should say) that were there all of them were tall, long, and sporty looking. Their skin was tan, their thighs undimpled, their bellies taut, and their breasts high and firm. The only other woman there who wasn't ESPN Beach Volleyball ready kept herself swathed in two towels and socks (which, btw, is GROSS. the floors are wet and so those socks must have gotten instantly all squishy and BLEH) only adding to my concern that my presence was severely lowering the attractivenesss average of the HotHouse for that given evening.
But then i was all like, "You know, you're being retarded. You love coming here, you love getting nekkid, you love sweating out all the worries of the past week and these skinny little girls who haven't grown a 9 lb baby inside them can just go back to their Nalgene bottles and Cliff bars and pat themselves on the back while they slip on their Speedo swimsuits and get raging melanomas while they frolic in front of a beach volleyball net. You, you can watch them from a distance while your little girl builds sandcastles and you eat a gorgeously artifical bag of Doritos and sip on a chemical laden caffeine-free Diet Coke while slathered in SPF 60 and laugh when they lose their scholarships because the beach volleyball team has been disbanded to save money." And it made me feel better. And i walked around the HotHouse with my head held high, my thighs thundering and i didn't give them another thought.
It's really soothing to be able to just go and hang out naked in amiable silence with other women. In fact, i love that the place seems to help women shed their usual misgivings about their own bodies. That said, part of my delight with the HotHouse is that usually there's women off all shapes and sizes just letting it all hang out. Skinny little legs, big poochy bellies, crazy curly hair, jiggly backsides, old, young, and everything in between. It's wonderful to see this cross section of ladies shedding their clothes for an hour or two warm relaxation.
However, this Wednesday, when i took myself to my steamy sanctuary it seemed that i was the only there with junk in her trunk and canyons etched on her belly. For a minute i wondered if there was a women's college volleyball team that decided to take the place over. Not that the HotHouse was crowded beyond belief but of the 5 or 6 other women (ahem, girls i should say) that were there all of them were tall, long, and sporty looking. Their skin was tan, their thighs undimpled, their bellies taut, and their breasts high and firm. The only other woman there who wasn't ESPN Beach Volleyball ready kept herself swathed in two towels and socks (which, btw, is GROSS. the floors are wet and so those socks must have gotten instantly all squishy and BLEH) only adding to my concern that my presence was severely lowering the attractivenesss average of the HotHouse for that given evening.
But then i was all like, "You know, you're being retarded. You love coming here, you love getting nekkid, you love sweating out all the worries of the past week and these skinny little girls who haven't grown a 9 lb baby inside them can just go back to their Nalgene bottles and Cliff bars and pat themselves on the back while they slip on their Speedo swimsuits and get raging melanomas while they frolic in front of a beach volleyball net. You, you can watch them from a distance while your little girl builds sandcastles and you eat a gorgeously artifical bag of Doritos and sip on a chemical laden caffeine-free Diet Coke while slathered in SPF 60 and laugh when they lose their scholarships because the beach volleyball team has been disbanded to save money." And it made me feel better. And i walked around the HotHouse with my head held high, my thighs thundering and i didn't give them another thought.