It wasn’t that Carol had been awarded a grand prize – for her and a guest –  that had me thinking it was a scam; it was more a case of it not being a scam that had me hoping it was. Three days at a wellness spa in either the invigorating desert air of Arizona or the soothing redwoods of San Jose. Strains of “Hotel California” ran through my head as she read the details of the award.

   At first glance, Carol had “won” the spa retreat as a result of a Covid vaccination incentive drive offered by our health insurer. We had no idea we’d even been entered into some contest just for getting the shot(s), believing not catching the virus and perhaps not dying a slow, agonizing death was incentive enough to get vaccinated.

   Now, as seniors, we are both sufficiently suspicious of frauds. (Yes, Virginia, there are actual frauds, not just the made up ones.) This one, coming via email, seemed like a Timeshare hustle, then maybe a vitamin supplement grift or simply something to do with a Nigerian prince. I hoped it would be any of these scams, rather than the fact it was legitimate.

   Well, It was legitimate, Carol confirmed it with our health insurer. The only question left was who Carol’s guest would be. After she explained all that was being offered at this spa, I desperately hoped it would not be me. Three days of what seemed to add up to terrycloth bathrobes, mud packs, hot rocks, yoga mats, nasty green colored smoothies and mountains of kale seemed Dantean in its hellish scope. I admit that my approach to the living room couch is spudlike, but I am committed to a walking and jogging regimen that, while it may appear as little more than an Alzheimer’s shuffle, still earns passing marks for extended exercise at my annual checkups.

Less an award, this spa thing sounded more like an intervention or some diversion program ordered by a judge. My lifestyle might be borderline atrocious, but it’s not criminal.

    The spa program included a damning note about no alcohol being provided, meaning even if there were swimming pools there’d be no tiki bars to sidle up to. Less an award, this spa thing sounded more like an intervention or some diversion program ordered by a judge. My lifestyle might be borderline atrocious, but it’s not criminal.

   “Take your daughter,” I begged Carol, the moment she finished reading the sentencing guidelines. I was able to paint a fairly compelling portrait of a man in dire misery, caked in chocolate mud, groaning like a dying hyena with every Tai Chi pose, plus starving to death. And Carol relented. When Carol phoned her daughter, she acted like she’d just won big on The Price Is Right. They’ll be the perfect couple for the seaweed shakes, tofu souffles and lotus positions.

   They just have to decide when would be the best time to go. Carol’s daughter is the mother of two teenagers and so scheduling could be tricky. I’ll throw in my suggestions, after perusing the television schedules for the baseball playoffs, college football games and the NFL. Three days of beer, wings, nachos and TV sports sound like a man’s kind of spa weekend.