It’s been a long time now, but whenever I think about my one and only experience at a spa, it makes me smile; sometimes it even makes me laugh out loud.

It sounds sophisticated, doesn’t it? The word spa? I thought so. I had begun to notice my rather Rubenesque figure while passing by the hallway mirror. I thought the answer might be to put myself in the hands of a professional, at a good spa. The trouble was, I couldn’t afford it. Then my friend Connie, an adventurous soul, not only urged me on but said she would go with me. I remember her exact words: “Just do the research. I’m sure you’ll find a great spa somewhere that fits our budget.”

All this occurred in the days when people routinely used travel agencies, so I found one in the Yellow Pages (for you younger readers, you’ll have to look up the meaning of “the Yellow Pages.” At the time, those fat yellow tomes were a mainstay of our culture.)

The lady at the agency told me she could find a spa almost anywhere I wanted to go. It was winter, so I thought Arizona might be a good choice. “And you want to spend how much?” she asked incredulously. She advised me that if I wanted to pay anything close to that, I’d have to go in the off-season, which started at the end of May.

“But won’t it be too hot?” I asked.

“Yes, it will,” she replied. She thought about it for a moment and added, “On the other hand, you’ll spend most of your time at the spa, so you probably won’t have to worry too much about it.” She did not sound confident.

Eventually, we found a golf resort in Tucson that advertised a full-service spa featuring a diet and exercise plan that guaranteed a ten-pound weight loss if we booked for a week. May was a bit far away, but the price was right, so we decided to reserve our spots.

The day of our departure eventually arrived, and we headed south, our suitcases bulging with bathing suits, gym shorts and suntan lotion. We arrived in Tucson, where we took a taxi to our resort. Upon arrival, we were given an activity schedule that pretty much told us what we would be doing every minute of the day, henceforward. Attached to the schedule was a very small menu. Very. It took me about ten seconds to read it, and I was immediately appalled. They can’t expect us to exist on this, can they?

Here is what I remember about the activity schedule: We would begin the day with a 7 a.m. breakfast (!), followed by an hour of aerobics, and then a brisk walk around the grounds at 10 to avoid the heat, which became an issue by 11. If we were to survive all that, we would then be treated to a massage of our choice, followed by what we would later laughingly refer to as lunch. Upon finishing lunch, we would be immersed in an hour of nutrition instruction, followed by a one-hour water aerobics class in the pool, and then a body toning session. We would then be allowed to escape to our rooms for a brief rest before dinner. And I thought this was going to be fun! Just the memory of it is instantly exhausting.

Oh, but we haven’t discussed the food! Here was the menu: For breakfast, we had a choice of iced tea (with lemon only) or sparkling water. We were then served one poached egg, half of a grapefruit and half a piece of toast with imitation butter. Lunch and dinner consisted of the same sort of lean fare, and there was NO alcohol. Nope, nada, none, zilch. And we had six more days of this — really?

A spa in my mind was a place where you went to be pampered, so I was looking forward to my daily massage. On that first day, I appeared dutifully at the appointed hour and was introduced to “Dave.” Dave of the bulging muscles and manly chest. Dave, with the brilliant white-toothed smile and smoldering eyes. Dave, who was 20 years younger than I, and the thought of baring my chubby body to such a person made me want to disappear! Connie, my adventurous and fearless friend, miraculously showed up at that very moment and quickly assessed the situation. My panic subsided when she said, “You don’t look like you’re feeling well.” (Probably because I had broken out in a cold sweat), “Should I take your appointment?” Loved that girl. Still love her.

Connie and I conceived a plan. We were allowed one sightseeing trip into the city, but had to take an oath not to indulge in anything that was not on the spa’s approved food list. Our plan was to consistently and with great pleasure ignore that list. And we did. And we got caught. And we were scolded like bad little children. The final blow fell when we were told they were rescinding the ten-pound weight loss guarantee!

The week eventually passed, and we managed to survive it in good spirits. I was feeling pretty proud of myself because after that one bump in the road, when we succumbed to the call of actual food, we stuck with the program. In fact, I was feeling quite healthy and proud of myself until I got home and stepped on the scale, where I was startled to find that I had gained four pounds!

Sigh. It must have been the salted caramel pie, or maybe it was the death by chocolate lava cake . . . or possibly the pineapple upside down surprise.

Oh, and by the way — it was HOT.

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