last week, i dialed the number for a spa local to my parents’ house because i’m finally going to use the gift certificate my friends gave me for my birthday last year.
me: hi, i’d like to set up an appointment.
me: *thinks to self: did i say something wrong?* uh. *laughs nervously*
receptionist: you’re the first person who’s called this week to set up an appointment. everyone else has been ‘can i get a gift certificate for christmas?’
me: oh, well, i’m calling to use a spafinder gift certificate, so i’m not that different…
we discuss the details of my appointment and with that all arranged, i hang up. since my massage isn’t using the full monetary value of the gift certificate, the remaining money has to be credited to this local spa because they can’t give me “spafinder” money back. (side note: spafinder is a general gift certificate to be used at any particiating spa throughout the country. pretty nifty, huh?) it makes sense they’d have to credit me money to their spa, but i’m not in my parents’ town all that often. i don’t want the money to go to waste.
i go to close the browser i had open to the spa’s information when the word prenatal catches my attention. my brain starts churning. i had a christmas gift idea for sister J, but you know what? this might be even better.
i redial the number for the spa.
me: hi, i just called to make an appointment, but i’d like to make an addition to it.
receptionist: is this abby?
me: oh, yes, hi. can i add an hour prenatal massage for my sister?
receptionist: you sure can.
we then discussed the particulars of sister J’s pregnancy so they could assign the proper massage therapist for her. and with that i checked off the final item of my christmas present “to buy” list, happy that i was finally using my birthday money, but more excited that i’d be able to give sister J a tiny sliver of relaxation in a time that’s been fraught with craziness.