After my rant on the overuse of the word “tragic,” I half expected there to be some sort of backlash from the trolling internets at large. Then I remembered that my blog only gets like 10 hits a week, and I simmered down. For a minute there, I was getting too big for my britches, which brings me to my next loathed word: pamper.

In my experience, the descriptor has only been used in two scenarios: one being the spa/relaxation oriented conversation, the second being any reference to baby diapers. In my brain, the two are now linked by a single utterance of the word.

Perhaps, because I very rarely do things that one would consider pampering (either scenario, actually, now that I think about it), the term is like a splinter in my brain. Being in a spa environment is like being a baby. You’re often naked or nearly naked, left to wait on an attendant who may or may not show up faster if you cry. You’re often bathed, dried, clipped or otherwise manipulated in an awkward fashion, usually not of your choosing. And, although you come out on the other side feeling just fine, it is sometimes an altogether uncomfortable experience.

The awkward saurus often feels very uncomfortable having someone else “work” on her, even if funds are exchanged. And, yes, often times it is even my idea to attend such a thing. Halfway through, usually after they put me in a different room than the one containing my pants, I realize I’ve made a terrible mistake.

So perhaps, I’m over sensitive. (Perhaps? Who am I kidding?) But still, whenever someone asks me if I want to be pampered, my gut reaction is still diapers and my first response is “God no!”