Come for the Relaxation, Stay for the Bad Jokes

Let’s be clear—I’m a real woman and not some overly filtered, Instagram-perfect fantasy.

I’m not a bot. I’m not a stock photo. And I’m definitely not that kale-fueled supermodel who pretends she “just woke up like this.”

Nope. I’m the girl-next-door type—the one in yoga pants and a torn T-shirt 90% of the time, with that one “cute but comfy” outfit I could basically live in 24/7. Sometimes I even require carbs.

When you walk into my space, you won’t be greeted by Jeeves the butler or crystal chandeliers. Instead, you’ll get fresh towels so soft you might feel compelled to write them a thank-you card, a warm smile, and good energy.

And if you stick around long enough? Well, I’ll probably tell you a terrible joke or two—because nothing melts tension like a little Texas sarcasm with a bad punchline.

Absolutely zero pressure—ever. Just a place where you can drop your guard, kick back, and wear your flip flops.