Bob Lemmon's massage room is a magical mini-oasis. There are fountains, mystical music, candles, incense and Bob. Bob is the best part. This man's hands will drain every ounce of stress out of any body. His regimen includes oils, hot rocks, soothing lavender lotion, even warm water poured over your feet. Talk or remain silent, whichever you choose. His hands know exactly where to knead, where to rub gently and where the tension is greatest. And Bob doesn't stick to time limits. He didn't stop when time was up, but went on for two and a half hours. The man is an angel, truly. You leave feeling not only relaxed and destressed but loved. Every single person on the planet deserves an hour of Bob.

This amazing old structure, built in 1898, is lovingly restored and chock-full of Victorian charm. Yes, it's a little foofy; don't check in if your idea of luxury is the downtown Hyatt. This luxury is of a different, softer sort. Stroll over (yes, you can stroll in Houston) to one of the many restaurants in the Montrose, or just lie on your bed and marvel at how many different patterned fabrics can appear in one room. The Robin is a great place to get away from it all for Houston dwellers and out-of-towners alike.

Nestled between Origins and Victoria's Secret, Sephora is the Never-Never Land of beauty. Grab a basket for help-yourself makeup shopping. The first thing you encounter when you walk into the store is two walls of perfume, listed alphabetically. It's daunting even to a product whore. The selection of makeup is nothing less than miraculous. Christian Dior, Shu Uemura, Terrax, Shiseido, Benefit, Kneipp's bath products -- and that's just a small sampling. The most prized product is the line N.V. Perricone M.D., formulated by the doctor who authored The Wrinkle Cure. You can also buy Urban Decay and Anna Sui makeup, and a Japanese skin-care line whose main ingredient is sake. The staff is helpful and knowledgeable but not intrusive. And they encourage you to try things on; everywhere are mirrors, tissues and applicators. We suggest you bring only cash. Going over the limit is way too easy here.

If your goal is to experience the luxury and selection of the Galleria but to avoid the insane parking and crowds, then check out Highland Village. All of the staples are there: the Gap, Banana Republic, Victoria's Secret and, of course, Starbucks. But the area also includes fine apparel stores such as Tootsies, Cole-Haan and the always cool Anthropologie, where you will find clothes, bath products, rosebud lip salve, rugs and bedding. The shopping center also is home to James Avery, a reasonably priced, high-quality jewelry store that carries classic cross pendants and heaps of charms -- everything from frogs to the Texas seal. If you get hungry, grab a bite at P.F. Chang's, or if you have a fatter wallet, Anthony's. After eating, explore Pottery Barn, the store we know Martha Stewart loves. Norton Ditto is close by if you need a "gentleman's clothier since 1908." After a fulfilling day of shopping, stop by Omaha Steaks and buy some filet mignon to throw on the grill at home.

The beautiful people stroll regularly through Kenneth Lester's door, perhaps because of his reputation, perhaps because of his location, in the Page Parkes building in River Oaks. But while Lester is appropriately fabulous, there is substance to his style. For years the med student-turned-triathlete-turned-chiropractor has been breaking his back to mend those of his eclectic mix of patients. His facility, which he shares with partner Elizabeth Baker, features the standard chiropractic wares as well as his brand of total-body wellness, so it's not surprising to overhear the good doctor berating executives about their expanding waistlines or late-night desserts. Lester dispels the stereotype of "med school flunky" by offering unsolicited dissertations on muscle function, flexibility and stress control. His casual bedside manner is refreshing, too; he chats about music and good lunch spots while fluidly readjusting a patient's spinal column. To hear first the "aarrgh" then the "aahhhh" is a guilty pleasure -- until it's your turn.

Those Aussies who make Nads are big dirty liars. No, Crocodile Dundee, we do not like putting Nads on our face, our hairy back, or anywhere. It hurts. Dear Lord, it hurts. That's why we turn to electrolysis's technologically advanced younger sister, laser hair removal, and to the bedside manner of Dr. Esta Kronberg. Her staff takes all the time needed to answer every question and soothe every anxiety. And that's without an appointment even. Sure, it doesn't come cheap. At $800 a treatment (about five sessions in total) for a guy with a Robin Williams-like back, it's not for everybody. In some cases, such as unusual hair growth, which may signify a potential hormone problem, an arrangement can be made through insurance. The treatments are significantly shorter than having those electrified tweezers poke at you, with a total removal lasting only half an hour. There are cases where some fuzz will grow back, but a few follow-ups will fix that. Does it hurt? Somewhat. Painless hair removal is apocryphal. We'd like to believe it exists. Laser removal burns a bit, but the good doctor will give you some ointment to ease the pain.

It's not so much that she has done an excellent job of training a particular canine, it's that Patricia Mercer has been instrumental in ensuring hundreds of dogs a happy relationship with their new owners. As executive director of the SPCA, Mercer oversees a training program that gives larger dogs a better chance of being adopted. In addition to nudging people toward continued training for pups of any size, the SPCA provides adoption follow-up to guarantee that new owners provide the right care and make their new pet a welcome addition to the household.

If these guys can fix a glockenspiel music-box clock built in 1800 with all-wood mechanisms (which they can), just imagine what wonders they can work with that collection of old watches that's sitting in your bathroom drawer. Serving time since 1947, the shop has six folks on staff with degrees from watchmaking school, and they can often do the work while you stand there and gawk. The labor ain't cheap (it can run $14 to fix a clasp), but you want to wear that Swatch again, don't you?