I got a massage today. Before you think unkind thoughts about me and my state of spoildom, I must inform you: I not only needed it, I deserved it.
Ever had one of those life lessons that prompts an otherwise normal, kind human being to punch someone in the mouth? Even if they don’t deserve it necessarily? But they’re looking at you with that vacant, apathetic, incompetent look that just makes you think you could seriously find yourself breaking from character and smacking them?
And enjoying it? Just a little?
Just somebody…have some accountability. Take some responsibility.
Let’s put this in perspective: No one died. No one is terminally ill. No one got hit by a car. No one is in a coma. No one took all my money (yet). No one killed a cat. No one confessed a desire for an alternative lifestyle.
It was just a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
And I would have LOVED to have gone to Australia.
That is not what this story is about.
This story is about a massage.
I went to a massage therapist I hadn’t been to before. Didn’t care. Needed. A. Massage.
In the worst way.
Cute girl. Nice girl. She did a good job.
She got to the backside of my legs. I am on my stomach. At this point, most therapists will kind of curl/fold the sheet discreetly and modestly to uncover a full leg, including, um, the buttock region.
This is fine. At no point in time did I feel that she was taking liberties with my, uh, large backside expanse. However, things did get uncomfortable…
The sheet began to recede to uncover the buttock region. Then, oddly, Becca (the therapist) kind of pulled the sheet taut between her two hands, distancing them about two feet apart.
I don’t know how to delicately put this, so I’ll say it the best way I can…she then kind of see-sawed the sheet into my buttock, uh, smile.
Yes, she did.
So there I am, face down, naked, my face in the halo hole of restfulness, and my eyes pop open.
It occurs to me, I think Becca just flossed my buttocks.
So, not only do I have that uncomfortable set up, I now have a massage occurring on my leg region while there is a packing of sheet in my, uh, bottom smile.
Upon one buttock and leg’s completion, she popped the sheet out of its secure holding, covered the expanse, and then walked around the table and repeated said flossing from the other side.
That was just…weird.
I can’t say that I’ve ever had my bottom flossed.