The first record bought for me, at the tender age of 3, was this absolute monstrosity by the band Mud (I guess Shit was already taken).
WARNING: Terrible segue coming up.
Today, at a spa in New Hampshire, I was once again disappointed by Mud.
For her birthday last year, I got Anne a mud wrap treatment and she hated it. She likened it to wearing a massive diaper, and then being hosed down like a concentration camp victim.
Now. Diff'rent strokes, for diff'rent folks. To me this sounded like fun, so I was disappointed when I saw the mud room at the spa today. I was asked to lay down on what can only be described as a human size piece of tin foil. I was caked in the volcanic mud and then wrapped up and left to set for 20 minutes.
After a shower (the best part thanks to the numerous additional jets), I was lathered in Arnica lotion. I guess it was OK, but the adult diaper would have been far better than the awkward dance-of-the-towels the masseur did to maintain my modesty. Think I'll go for the hot stoning next time.