We recently received an email request from an alert and astute mockdocker who requested that we test a cellulite treatment product. At first I was offended, because what makes this chick think I have cellulite in the first place? But then I realized that she, like so many other women, was just searching for answers. I can’t afford the $500 that this cellulite treatment product costs, but I was talking about this to Bunny this afternoon, and she suggested that I tell you all about a spa treatment I tried several years ago, so that you might benefit from the wisdom of my experience. So listen!
A friend of mine said she went to a spa where they essentially wrap you up in ace bandages soaked with some sort of secret substance that is supposed to magically firm and tighten your skin such that once you get unwrapped, you are instantly like 10 times skinnier than you were pre-wrap. My friend SWORE by this, and so I decided to give it a go.
First of all, this is a completely humiliating process. You’re essentially totally naked except for this disposable thong that they give you to wear, and then some poor, underpaid spa girl measures all the super embarassing parts of your body and shouts out the measurements to you so you can compare them to the “after measurements” and then she has to wrap you from head to toe, TIGHTLY, in gooey ace bandages. You are literally mummified. And then you are left alone for a few minutes so that the entire staff of the spa can laugh at you behind your back. I imagine their conversation goes something like this:
Spa Girl 1: “Dude – can you believe someone else fell for this?”
Spa Girl 2: “OMG – I know. So stupid. I’m going to charge her extra.”
This is probably followed by the entire rest of the spa team erupting into a fit of giggles.
Anyway, once your spa girl comes back, she leads you into a room with other mummified women to “relax” while your ace bandages dry and tighten up around you and presumably proceed to detoxify and slimify and defatify you. Except that you know what they don’t tell you?
YOU CANNOT BREATHE. This is something I realized as soon as my spa girl left me alone so she could laugh at me. And I was already so humiliated at the wrapping process that there was no way in hell I was going to admit to not being able to breathe. I was going to look cool if my life depended on it (which it sort of did seeing as how I couldn’t breathe and all).
So my spa girl came to deposit me into the relaxation room, and I was placed onto a chaise lounger, because of my inability at that point to fold myself into a seated position. You need to understand that when I say “I was placed” I really mean it. It took two people to maneuver me onto this lounger. And I’m a pretty small person, but even small people, when mummified to this extent, become incapable of moving themselves from one place to another. Once I was positioned to the satisfation of the spa girls, I was able to take stock of the company around me.
I was in a room filled with women who couldn’t breathe, but who were all acting as if it was completely ok and normal. None of us spoke, because that would require more oxygen. So we all laid there, gasping for air, pretending to read magazines but really staring at the lone clock in the room, willing time to somehow magically fast forward one hour, and dying a little inside with each tick of the second hand.
As you might expect, getting UNwrapped is as humiliating as getting wrapped, except that you’re so elated to be able to take a full breath that you don’t even care about the after measurements. I ended up embracing my spa girl for saving my life. I’m fairly certain she told me that I had lost several inches everywhere. I’m also fairly certain she was lying.
In short, I don’t recommend the weight loss wraps. I love a normal spa body wrap where they just slime you with seaweed and mud and put warm towels and blankets on you, because you can breathe and take a nice nap. But the whole slimmifying mummification process – no.
If I’ve saved just one woman from this humiliation by telling my story, then it was worth it. Consider it my mockdock sacrifice.
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