Once a month I have a facial at Spas R US. My face is bathed in warm vapors, kneaded with various oils, exfoliated with an herbal mask and wrapped in cool towels. My grandmother didn't believe in facials. She believed that good skin came from good living. Well grandmother, considering the cost of facials, my wanting good skin is giving someone else a good living.

I used to follow my facial with a massage. Swedish, aromatherapy or hot stone - I tried them all; but they all put me to sleep. I'm sure it was an enjoyable thirty minutes, but I didn't remember it. On the drive home it seemed my body didn't remember it either because traffic was still a pain in the neck.

Mud baths supposedly sooth pain, but I don't want to pay to sit in stuff I spent years trying to get rid of. My sons tracked mud into the house. They left it caked in their shoes and embedded in their clothes. Those were the years I was sure my name was "mudder".

Those were the years I could blame my hair style on not having time to have it professionally down. Now I have time. Now I have electric dryers, curlers and straighteners, as well as gels, foams and mousse - but I still can't make my hair do what the stylist made it do the day before. Every time I have to put my hair in a pony tail I remember why my grandmother wouldn't buy me a pony - because I couldn't take care of it.

A Spas R Us manicurist takes care of my nails. The nails I use to scrape off stickers, pop pop-tops and pry off lids deserve to be soaked in sudsy water, rubbed with oil and filed evenly once a week. I tell myself I'm going to take better care of my nails; but if you saw them, you'd see at least one broken promise.

As for my toe nails, they suffer from out-of-sight-out-of-mind syndrome. Considering all the pseudo, glass slippers I've squeezed them into, my toes deserve better. In fact, they deserve to look better every time I put my foot in my mouth.