I was visiting New York on business and I had no idea why the hipster librarian had decided I must visit the city’s trendiest spa. I was told the full story. The owner of the spa had been rootling around in her cellar and had found paint tins full of her great-grandfather’s urine, all dated and sealed. Convinced of the health-giving properties of 100-year old wee wee, she had launched this spa.
In the dance studio, people were being led in an ancient Grecian dance routine while daubing the wee onto the foreheads. Already horrified, I was told this was simply the beginner session. As people progressed through the rooms in the spa, the treatments became even more ‘intense’. I decided to leave.