The Spa

If I had access to unlimited funds it’s highly possible I would become a spa junkie. I love the spa. The smells, the tea, the robe, the music, the warm room, the warm towels, and of course, the treatment. My husband is supportive. So much so that he’s accustomed to taking note of the spa facilities available in the area when he’s planning our vacation travel. I do indulge even when we’re not on vacation by visiting my favorite neighborhood spa. For the most part, the process isn’t all that different from what I’ve experienced in other countries. Except, the receptacle for your clothing. What lady hasn’t been in the doctor’s office or the dressing room at a department store and felt slightly horrified when she realizes her undergarments are crumply pitched in a pile in plain sight? I can’t be the only one that hides my undies under my folded blouse and at times resorts to tucking them into the pocket of my jeans. Of course the modest women of Japan have given this some thought and developed a solution to spare others the embarrassment. It took me awhile to figure it out, but in every spa room, often in dressing rooms, and sometimes in the public bath changing area, there is a basket with a piece of cloth the same size to cover your clothing once you’ve placed your items neatly inside, keeping your privacy in tact.