A guest blogger! And a lesson in massexting, or texagging or something


I have been trying to expand the horizons lately.  Stretch the boundaries, live on the edge and what have you, spurred on largely by my pal Kim who wanted to similarly find new experiences.  It is always better to do these things with a friend as you can compare notes, try things that may not normally occur to you and also have protection from potential serial killers.

When Kim and I decided to embark on this journey we decided not to limit ourselves to the things we knew would be an easy fun.  I have had plenty of good massages (I have an excellent therapist), eaten great meals, seen beautiful art.  But I believe that you need to live life on the edge sometimes.  Which brought us to a crazy bungalow in Mississauga, asking each other if we had seen “Silence Of The Lambs” recently …

Kim will take over now:

A salt cave?  What the hell is a salt cave, you ask.  Let me explain…

Jane and I have decided that we are going to try out as many Groupon adventures as we can.  So, when I got an email from her with the subject line: Salt Cave?, I quickly returned it with a big fat capitalized yelly YES!

We both had no idea what a salt cave was but the website for the Oasis Rehab Centre touts that a salt cave is fantastic for your respiratory system and good for whatever ails ya.  Including but not restricted to: insomnia, snoring, vegetative dystonia (what is that?) amongst many. many other conditions.  None of which Jane nor I have.  But it couldn’t hurt, right?

Early Saturday morning, we set out for the far away berg of Mississauga, arrived at the Centre and parked as close as we possibly could to the life size camel.  This is where things started to unravel.

The Oasis appeared to be a former family home that had been transformed into a creepy broken down “spa”.  And I’m using those quotes on purpose.  There was a huge ”for sale” sign on the front of building and I’m willing to bet that the neighbours are praying for a quick sale and an amazing flip that will tempt a nice normal family to move in.  We entered and were hit with a … hmmm… how can I best describe it .. well, I’ll just get right to it … a rotten egg odour.  Must have been the salt.  I hope.

We were separated for our massages and I was left standing in a wood paneled cold little room with a sad, intermittent space heater.

I disrobed, laid face down on the table and got under the “blanket”.  It was a bath towel and I am bigger than your average gal so it barely covered the bits that I needed it to.  My masseuse was a tiny Asian gal who quickly got to work.  She seemed to know what a massage should look like but didn’t seem to know what was inside the skin she was massaging.  About half way through, I heard what I thought was the sound of her rummaging through the pocket in her apron.  (If I’m being completely honest, I thought she was going through my purse and taking my wallet but I talked myself out of it.)  Once she retrieved whatever it was from her apron, the massage started getting inconsistent.  She would start off rubbing with both hands, slowly take one hand away and then gradually lose interest in the remaining hand until it came to a complete stand still.  Only then did it dawn on me. She couldn’t multi-task.  SHE WAS TEXTING.  DURING MY MASSAGE.  The highlight had to be when she bent over me, used both forearms to grind into my back while freeing up BOTH hands to text her buddies.  Awe.  Some.

Next was the salt cave.  We were led down into a serial killer hiding basement and shown into the “cave” which had that “she-puts-the-lotion-in-the-basket” kind of feel. The room was a sectioned off part of the dank basement and the walls and ceiling were covered with glued on salt crystals.  Large crystals, small crystals, brick crystals, crystals that looked like swans and mushrooms.  Yes.

There was a teensy window that let in just enough light to reveal a running water feature in the corner.  We sat down on the lawn chairs provided and waited.  And drank tea from Styrofoam cups.  For half an hour.  And breathed.  In and out.  And nothing happened.

We left feeling more stressed than we were when we arrived.  But we left alive and for that I am grateful.

Goodbye, Mr. Camel.  Good luck in your future endeavours.

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