Bliss

I had an hour of Bliss yesterday. It's the most unbelievable spa in New York, one I've read about in magazines before moving here.
It's on the fourth floor of the fancy, trendy W hotel. When you walk in, everyone's smiling. The spa seems large-there are showers, steam and sauna, lockers, than my favorite-women's lounge. There, under the dim lights and relaxing music, you can have cheese and crackers, lemonade, tea, olives, cucumber and variety of delicious cookies, a much as you want. And read magazines, while munching.
This is where your aestetitian picks you up and takes you to an individual room for a treatment. The warm, cozy, anatomically shaped bed there is helping you relax as you enjoy your facial or a massage.
A Romanian woman did my facial. We chatted about Ceausescu and the communism, and the contemporary times. Things have not been much different there than in Serbia, historically. She did leave Romania over 25 years ago. Her accent was still strong.
She was surprised when she heard I was married. "Are you in school,?" she asked while massaging my face. "I got done with school recently and I'm looking for a job now." "How old are you, 21, 22?" That's when I started laughing while increasingly enjoying my treatment. They don't give you only the facial, but also an ego-enhancer.
"No, I wish, I'm a bit older that that," I smilingly answered.
She seemed genuinely stunned when I told her how young I am. Really, she did. I can tell when people are just giving you a compliment without meaning it.
I mean, I thought I look younger, but never that young. God, Bliss feels so good!