Into my emailbox this morning spewed a press release celebrating the arrival of the King Tut exhibit at The Field Museum in Chicago. But the release wasn't from the Field Museum, or the Chicago Tourist Bureau. No, it was from the Spa at Four Seasons Hotel Chicago, which "is offering the royal treatment with a specially created Egyptian Golden Body Wrap, a luxurious treatment [that] stimulates circulation, hydrates the skin and leaves you with a golden shimmer."
Basically, we're talking a moisturizer with glitter. What this has to do with King Tut is beyond me. Does it preserve you for the next three thousand years?
But that's not the only noteworthy element of this pharaonic emolliation:
The treatment begins in the tranquil Relaxation Room where the therapist will greet you and lead you on a sensory journey, which includes a gentle exfoliation consisting of Dead Sea salts infused with chamomile ...and an invigorating Vichy shower...
Whoa. I don't know about you, but a quicksilver bit of conceptual math produced this equation: Vichy=Nazi puppet government+shower=I'm outta there. No Four Seasons for me. That means any of them.
I'm not going to have some concierge knock at my door in the middle of the night demanding to see my papers. Or have my sleep disturbed by drunken officers singing Wagner in the next room. Or be bumped from my dining room table by Field Marshall something-or-other. Or see the disgust on the faces of the staff who look the other way when their wives go off with a general in the sidecar of his motorcycle. Or watch the restaurant manager who sells cases of prime fras grois on the black market while the Resistance must subsist on the downmarket variety hardly better than Spam, then shrugs his shoulders and says, "Un homme doit faire un habiter."
No, no, I tell you: I won't stand for it. Not for four hundred dollars a night.
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