Breathless
"Well, here we are."My husband Michael holds open the glass door for me to enter the place. The Relaxation Station; a spa in a shopping center. I sigh inwardly; a tacky name, but as this visit is on him I can't complain too much...We approach the reception desk, surrounded by the scent of patchouli and the sound of nondescript New Age music and within a setting of comfortable-looking if anonymous plush chairs and sofas. The young man behind the counter is handsome enough, in a Keanu...