Modest Mom.

Did I ever tell you about the time I peed myself at the spa?
Let me restate that - I allegedly peed myself at the spa.

You need a little background.
I was raised in a religious household. Modesty was a big part of that. How big?
Well, I shared a room with my sister for 17 years and watched her give birth to her son at home. I have yet to see her naked.

Then there's the issue of a post-partum body. Stretch marks, a weakened bladder, boobs that are setting out for the South Pole.

The whole thing started when I was asked to be a bridesmaid. Big deal. I was VERY excited.
I decided to get a spray tan so I would be less blue in the pictures standing next to a group of Cali girls.

You should know that the whole spa thing is challenging for me. I keep my underwear on for massages. I wear a swimsuit in the sauna.
I'm just more comfortable that way.

Determined, I called up a local spa offering spray tans and booked up.
I imagined one of those booths where you go in get sprayed and come out. Alone. Private.
I show up for my appointment and the girl shows me to a tiled room. Empty except for a stool.

???

"Take everything off and just call out when you're ready" the girl says blithely.

Erm??

I decide not to panic. I am a mature woman who has given birth.
I can handle this.
I strip.
In my head I am chanting over and over.
"No big deal, no big deal."

The girl comes back and we begin. It's not so bad actually - she's very nice.
She doesn't seem to be too appalled at the sight of me in the buff.

Then.

"Pop your leg up on the stool and we'll do the inside of your leg."

NO, NO, NO.
There will be no popping.
I CANNOT DO THIS.

It feels like twenty minutes go by as my brain scrambles trying to think of how to handle this.
Before I know it I have popped my leg on the stool.

WHO AM I? Where is prudish Joy?

I begin to relax. This is really OK.
I CAN do this. It's fine. We're all girls. It's fine.

Then.

She stops, her face red she looks at me and says,

"Would you like a tissue for that?'

I look down and there running down my inner thigh is a drip.

Oh dear God.

I am sure it is an over application of spray tan. She is sure it's pee.
There's no graceful exit.
We finish, I get dressed and run out of there cheeks still burning.

Driving home I feel more and more sure it was a spray tan drip and not a bladder malfunction.
I begin to relax. Who cares? I'll never see that girl again.

That evening I have a girls night to go to. We're going for dinner.
I get there early so go up to the bar to get a glass of wine. It's very busy.
As I wait for the bartender to notice me I hear a girl telling a story of her horrible day at work.

"......then she pees down her leg."

Yup, the girl from the spa. Her friends roar with laughter or scream "ewwww."
The drip is Niagara Falls in this version of the story.

Should I have asked for the tip back?