One of the nicest things I do for myself is to schedule regular facials. I’m fortunate to live near an Aveda Institute where students in the noble art of esthetics practice their burgeoning skills on willing participants for a fraction of the cost of the same service at a regular salon.
My esthetician today was poised and competent. From the initial handshake I could tell I was in for a great experience with Madeline, and I wasn’t disappointed. But this post isn’t about her; it’s about me, as always.
Not long after I’d gotten settled on the table and Madeline began her routine my mind started wandering. Not to a happy place on a beach, or to a ski resort in the alps, but to my future deathbed. Yes, I’m weird that way.
I thought about how many times I’ve gotten a special, one time only event totally wrong. Like the year my sorority in Kansas chose me as their sweetheart. I believe my exact words were, “You’re sh***ing me!”
Or the one time a good looking teenage boy picked up my teenaged self and flirtatiously threw me into a swimming pool. Again, I believe my exact words were, “You’re shi***ing me!”
So I began rehearsing my deathbed speech. Oddly enough, it started with, “You’re sh***ing me!”
Naw. Just kidding. In my fantasy I told everyone gathered around me how much I loved them, and recounted one beautiful memory from my time with each individual. It was moving. I hope I can remember all this when the time comes. But if all else fails there’s always the old standby.