SPA ‘salon’
“This is going to be my ‘business’!” declares Patricija, the little “businesswoman,” after receiving body-care bottles in the form of Christmas gifts from all the visiting Santa Clauses.
Soon, a “spa salon” was opened.
With a list of services.
Prices.
And.
Specifications for the services offered:
what scent of body cream the client prefers,
the intensity of the massage they want.
And so began the business days.
In the village, it ran smoothly.
Not only Grandma, but also Grandpa, aunts, and uncles enjoyed the massages.
But—
She says business will fail in the city.
Back home with all the “spa salon” services
and promotional posters hanging on the walls,
the little “businesswoman” grew worried.
“Client Mykolas won’t even stay for the minimal procedure time,
client Dominykas wrinkles his nose at the thought of a massage performed by specialist Pa.
Then Dad,” she sighs, “but he has a beard and very little ‘normal’ skin on his face, so he only orders back massages—and no scented creams.”
That leaves one loyal client—Mom.
Who every evening, after seeing Mykolas off sweetly, ties a headband and stays for a long time in the “spa center.”
“How do you feel?” asks specialist Pa.
“Like a queen,” I smile.
And little hands keep moving.
“Would you like some herbal tea?
Or maybe a hand massage?” she asks.
“Is it expensive?” I ask.
“Right now, if you order this one, you’ll get a foot massage as a gift—both for 50 cents,” offers the masseuse.
“I’ll take it,” I say, and smile.
She knows a thing or two about the “two-for-one” trick of commerce.
But she’s done—no greediness.
Music plays in the spa salon.
It turns out it’s coming through Mom’s missing little phone.
The dimly lit room smells nice.
Looking around, I realize the aroma comes from the home-scented sticks stolen from the bathroom.
And there’s my beloved teapot,
from which the sweet masseuse and receptionist pours chamomile tea.
Finally, it’s announced:
“The procedure is finished, but don’t rush to leave.”
And in front of me appears a little basket from which you pull a paper.
“Lottery?” I ask.
“No,” wrinkles her small nose, “these are tips on how to improve your health.”
From the two papers I draw, one says:
“Come again.”
I leave, thanking her.
I’ve never had such luxury!
A luxurious spa “salon,” located right next to my bedroom!
And at good prices!
The little “businesswoman” is growing.
More than coins in a little purse, she knows how to count time spent with Mom toward herself, like a “piggy bank” pulled from a drawer.
I sink into sweetness.
After massages and thoughts about spa treatments.
V.
