Popping zits in Mexico

This is one of 213 vintage travel posters
from the collection we have amassed over the last 40 years.
 Once you read the explanation at the end of this post, you'll
understand why I couldn't resist using it as the visual.

My wife and I are in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico, celebrating our 40^th anniversary. We are pretty much spending our time admiring the breathtaking view of the Sea of Cortez from our hotel balcony and reading by a different pool each day.

It is ridiculous considering we live in a Florida development that has its own private beach on the Gulf of Mexico and where the nearest pool is located 10 feet outside our bedroom door. But the last time I went to our beach was in April, and the last time our pool was used was by Bonnie, our ancient dachshund who lost her balance and fell in as she was drinking from it and had to be fished out. Perhaps if we had happy hour with half-priced drinks from 3 to 5 every afternoon we’d use it more often but, probably not. I’m only into pools I don’t have pay someone to maintain.

Last time we were at this hotel, in 2007, we signed up for massages in the hotel's swanky spa that set us back $300 (not including tips). This time, I’m a savvier traveler.

And so yesterday we drove into town to visit a spa that advertises hour-and-a-half massages for $50. My wife was skeptical but I pointed out that Trip Advisor readers rave about the place and that, for the same money we spent nearly ten years ago, we could have three massages each during our vacation. When we arrived for the first of our scheduled treatments, a Swedish massage and deep cleansing facial for her, and a deep tissue massage for me, the receptionist suggested, “Senor, why don’t you get a facial, too?”

“C’mon, do it, you’re just going to have to wait for me otherwise,” my wife urged. I said sure. Heck, it cost all of $40. Why not?

We were installed side by side in a couples treatment room for the massages. After those were finished, we were flipped over for our facials. I was under the impression a facial would consist of a steaming hot towel and cucumber slices over the eyes, after which mud or some other gunk would be applied that would leave my face with a youthful albeit temporary glow. I was wrong.

The girl started by applying a series of odd-smelling lotions, used a steamer to open the pores, then spent the rest of the hour popping zits I wasn't aware I had. I am very aware I happen to have a monster one on my nose at the moment, a zit that appears with predictable regularity, sort of like Haley’s Comet but bigger. She didn’t even go near that one. If it had erupted it would have put her eye out. It doesn’t seem fair to have gray hair and zits. One should have one or the other but not both at the same time. But I digress.

We hadn’t had breakfast when our treatments started at 11 a.m. By the time we finished at 1:30 p.m. I was famished. I had noticed a McDonald’s as we drove through the town and spent the last hour of my treatment fantasizing about a QP w/ Cheese but I was too embarrassed to suggest that. One has to have at least some class. It’s cheesy enough to take one’s bride to a discount spa. I wasn’t about to suggest lunch at Mickey D's. I had promised her a nice lunch by the marina.

In the parking lot my wife announced that she, too, was starving and said we ought to drive to McDonald’s and go through the drive-through window. “I was thinking the same thing,” I said, laughing.

So we did. Our Cuartos de Libra con Queso were delicious and we ate them in the car, arriving back at the hotel just in time for Happy Hour.  

After all these years we still disagree about many things -- politics for instance -- but when it comes to what's truly important, we think alike and always have.

It's kinda nice.

About the poster: On February 20, 1943, a Mexican farmer and his wife witnessed the birth of what became Volcan Paricutin, a natural phenomenon some consider one of the seven wonders of the modern world. It began as a fissure in a cornfield from which ash and stone erupted. A week later there was a pile five stories high … within a year two nearby villages had been buried in ash and lava … and nine years later, when the eruption ended, there was a mountain more than 1,300 feet high that attracted fascinated tourists from all over the world to see it. The Mexican government, obviously, loved all the dollars those tourists, (most of them American) brought with them and milked Paricutin for all it was worth. This poster, created for display by U.S. travel agents, notes that Volcan Paricutin was “born February, 1943” and was printed in Mexico by the Association Mexicana de Turismo.