January 14, 2010
I love massages. Getting them, definitely not giving them. Giving them sucks. As a matter of fact, I have no understanding as to why massage therapists will rub all over someone’s naked body for eighty bucks. You could offer me eight-thousand bucks and I would still have to do some very heavy thinking before I said “yes.” Before my decision, I would also require the submission of nude photos of the client, including close-ups of the back (to check for hair), the feet (to check for dryness, scary toenails, bunions, etc…), and a smell sample to make sure that they weren’t inflicted with B.O. or halitosis. Add to all this the fact that my hands get tired after approximately 18 seconds of light shoulder massage, and I think you can understand why I never became a massage therapist.
Honestly, it boggles my mind as to how massage therapists can rub the flesh of anyone with access to a credit card. Remember: most of the “People of Wal-Mart” have credit cards, and they get just as tense as anyone else. When I got The Best Massage of My Life on Sunday, the questionnaire said, “Please remember to shower the day of your massage. If you did not, we have a shower you may use.” I asked my masseuse if this happens alot, and she said that it does. I also asked her if she has ever had to rub someone that grossed her out. Again she said “yes”. Do not worry, people. I will ask these hard-hitting questions that we all have. I have no boundaries, as evidenced by the fact that I once asked my Gynecologist if he has ever had to do a Pap under terrifyingly disgusting conditions. The answer to that, was also “yes.” I shudder.
Anyway, I LOVE massage, although we got off to a shakey start back in the 70’s when my dad’s friend used to offer me 50 cents to give him a back rub. This could have definitely ruined my love for massage before it even began, not to mention caused me years of therapy. But, as I mentioned before, money is not a big incentive for me when other peoples bodies are involved. So although I could have scored two games of Q-Bert per massage, I always turned this lucrative offer down. As a matter of fact, I never really became interested in massage until college, when during a stressful finals week, my friend gave me a shoulder rub. It was awesome, and it totally opened my eyes and kind’ve turned me into a massage whore. I admittedly took advantage of my friend, who would never say “no”, and when it seemed as if she was finally getting tired of me, I became friends with a guy in my Math class named “Chip”who was an actual licensed masseuse. I thought I’d found the Holy Grail of friendship, so I decided to let slide the fact that he shared his name with a salty, crispy, potato snack and a cartoon chipmunk. We hit it off right away by making each other laugh during class, in lieu of actually listening to the professor. He was cool, funny, AND A MASSEUSE, so I befriended him with dreams of free massages, relaxed muscles, and the smell of eucalyptus body oil. Unfortunately, a few weeks later I found out that he didn’t just give it away. He had learned to save his gifts of massage for use as a weapon of seduction, and since I had a boyfriend, that was never gonna happen. So, I gave him to a friend of mine who thought he was cute, and instead of getting my free dream massages, I listened to her tell me about hers. Torture.
Although I am a massage junkie, they’re not all great. I have definitely had some bad experiences over the years. I’ve had the guy who nearly caused internal organ damage, even though I repeatedly told him that he was applying enough pressure to shatter bones. I’ve also had the girl that wouldn’t shut up. She talked in her annoying cartoon-character voice for one hour straight about her boring-ass life. I’ve had the girl who had some major sinus issues going on and sniffled/snorted the entire time, not allowing me any relaxation whatsoever due to the fact that every time she squirted on more oil, I would convince myself it was her dripping nasal secretions. Lastly, I had the large German woman who spanked me. Everything was going fine, the massage was good, then she just began to spank me. On my naked butt. Now, I am usually very outspoken, but since she was over 6-feet tall, had a scary accent AND WAS SPANKING ME, I kept quiet and just waited for it to end. Eventually it did. And while I had a suspicious feeling that she had just made me her legal “partner” in some weird German spanking ritual, we never saw each other again, and I went home to Steve, feeling ashamed and violated.
And yet I still love massage.
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