I’m at the Korean Day Spa. It’s this magical place in L.A. where a bunch of women walk around naked, dunking themselves in different hot pools of water. I’m there with my two best friends and we’re naked too. Initially we hold onto our Western modesty like a trio of carburetor-clinging kittens, but after a while the modesty gets lost in a steady parade of Korean flesh, and our towels take a hike with it.
There are no phones allowed in the Korean Day Spa and so, hence, no accompanying photos. There is a whole section devoted to Korean toothpaste, but, I, being unaware of the importance of Korean dental hygiene, didn’t bring my toothbrush.
It’s like 10,000 tubes of Korean toothpaste when all you need is a toothbrush, I think as I nakedly stare down the toothpaste tubes.
What was that song all about anyway? Not really irony, more like just being pissed off when things don’t go your way. And isn’t rain on your wedding day supposed to be good luck?
But there’s no more time for thoughts of Alanis Morissette and her pessimistic-tending life views, because now I’m being whisked out of the tub and onto a metal slab where I receive a good old fashioned Korean massage.
Allow your brain to pull up an image of Miss Trunchbull, the child-torturing villain in Roald Dahl’s Matilda. Then tweak that just slightly until you see Korean Miss Trunchbull - wearing only her skivvies - about to chokey the living daylights out of you.
Korean massage is also magical. But more in the way that a near death experience is magical. There comes a moment where you give up on experiencing your body and, like a bored teenager chucking down an xbox remote, just sort of leave it behind.
When you do finally come back to reality, your ability to form words is on hiatus and so instead you crawl off to one of several warming rooms, which must be specifically designed to absorb some of the “being pummeled by a large Korean woman” shock.
Now I’m in the Jade room - still oh so naked - taking in the vibes from some hot pink rocks.
Beaten down, naked, and thrumming with rock vibes, I feel surely this is the perfect time to offer up some kind of prayer to the universe.
Dear Universe, it’s me Chloe. Thanks for not killing me back there on the massage slab. If you let me get out of here alive, I promise to do something worthwhile with my life and never watch another Downton Abbey episode as long as I live.
Then, I make my way out of the Jade room like some huge naked baby, birthing herself from the pink rocks back into the world of normalcy.
A world, I’m slowly realizing, with too many clothes and lacking severely in Korean toothpaste tubes.