So yesterday was my 10,000th Day. It had become apparent that High Adventure wasn't in the cards (or in my checkbook, although that's becoming an adventure in itself) so I took Mister Boyfriend's suggestion and and headed off to the baths of Hot Springs for a bit of girliness.

I've been having massages since I was about sixteen, but I had never been to the baths. Figuring that one's 10,000th day demanded a new experience, I booked both a bath and a massage (for a surprisingly reasonable sum) and took off on the hour drive from Little Rock. The Arlington Hotel is the grandest hotel and bath on Bathhouse Row, and they've obviously worked hard to restore and maintain the 1920s architecture, both in the hotel proper and in the baths. That's where I went*.

Since I've always been a bath person (as opposed to a shower person), it was a foregone conclusion that I would be a sucker for the baths. They put you in a tub of very very hot water that has what looks like a 50-year-old outboard motor stuck in it, only instead of blades it has tubes that shoot out compressed air. (Swear to God, the thing really should say Evinrude on the side.) The whole contraption is plugged into the wall. Your first thought is "I'm a-gonna die of electrocution." Your next thought, a full five minutes later, is "I don't care. What an excellent way to go." You stay in the bath for 20 minutes, sipping the very very hot water they give you to sip, and you become very happy - so happy that you are inclined to protest when the very nice attendant named Annie comes to fish you out.

But you get out anyway, because the next step is to sit in your own tiny private steamroom and sip very cold water while the 130 degree air** billows around you and the hot marble seat gently roasts your bottom. The maximum stay allowed in the steam room is five minutes, and you stay every second of them. Then you lie down so you can be wrapped entirely in hot towels and have a cold towel placed on your face, and you stay there until you start to feel kind of soggy, and then it is time for the massage.

It was like they opened up a plug on my big toe (or possibly it was in my belly button) and drained out all the Extreme Grownupness of this summer and replaced it with fabulously clear water. I was so happy and light by the time they got done.

So I proceeded to McClard's Bar-B-Q for dinner. I've been going there all my life, first with the parents and then by myself and with friends. I once introduced a German exchange student to Southern barbeque there. I've gone through phases of ordering - when I was a teenager, it was always a chopped beef sandwich and fries, no slaw because I was scared of slaw. Then I went through a long while of tamale spreads, until a couple of years ago when I became a devotee of the chopped beef plate. Last night, I reverted to the tamale spread, which is a rather curious beast: a layer of fritos and a layer of tamales, followed by successive layers of baked beans, chopped beef, onions, cheddar cheese, and barbeque sauce. And since I am now not only not scared of slaw but on a constant quest for the Slaw Epitome, I ordered up a side of their very excellent slaw. There was no way I could eat all of it - half of everything came home in a box, and I'm finishing it off now as breakfast while typing this.

Then I stopped by Mister Boyfriend's on the way home and watched Mr. Deeds, which I've never seen all of before, and then I went home and slept for 11 hours.

I feel much better now.

*In spite of the grandeur, they're very nice and not at all snotty. They'll even valet park a Kia for you.
**Yes, I am the sort of person who will sit in a 130 degree room in summer in Arkansas.

Are you happy now, Michelle? (Just so long as you know I would have written this anyway. Ha!)