Rub me, love you long time.

8 Dec

I still have about a hundred dollars in my flex spending account for the year, money I need to use or lose before January. Since I tend to be Ms. Frugality, you can imagine how I feel about potentially forfeiting my own money at the turn of the year.

As a result, I’ve been coming up with creative ways to use it. I’ve stockpiled vitamins and calcium tablets. I went to the dermatologist for a basic body check to make sure none of my moles was cancerous. And last night I got a massage.

Let’s just agree: if my receipt for this massage gets approved for reimbursement, I’m going to kick myself for not figuring this out sooner. I LOVE massages.

Last night’s massage was delivered by Stephanie, a recent graduate of the Potomac Massage Training Institute. Despite her new credentials, she was one of the best masseuses I’ve had work on me.

The only trouble I have during massages is that I can’t really turn off my thoughts until near the end. I spend the first 30 minutes chastising myself with phrases like, “Relax and enjoy this! Pay attention! Don’t let your mind wander! Be in the moment!”

Then, I shift into “mental interview” mode, where I suddenly think of about 80 things I’d like to know but decide not to ask. Such as:

  • I wonder what part of the body she likes rubbing the best.
  • I wonder if someone’s feet have ever stunk so badly she skipped them.
  • I wonder if my armpits have stubble. And if so, if she is willing herself not to throw up.
  • I wonder what percentage of people get totally naked for their massages.
  • I wonder if most men get erections during massages.
  • I wonder if her hands hurt.
  • I wonder what the longest amount of time is that someone could give a continuous massage.
  • I wonder if anything really gross has ever happened – like someone peeing on the table.
  • I wonder if she appreciates that I don’t have back-ne. (bacne?)

And then, for the last ten minutes, I shift into “Premature Mourning” mode, where I start lamenting how quickly the hour went (while she is still rubbing me) and try to silently will her into going into overtime on me.

It’s weird: while I walk out of a massage physically relaxed, the entire hour of rubbing itself provokes more mental stress than – say – trying to understand how Sarah Palin was able to write a book that involves words. I’m not exactly sure what it means, but I’m pretty sure Buddah would thump me for that. Which actually might feel pretty good…

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One Response to “Rub me, love you long time.”

  1. Alicia December 9, 2010 at 10:53 am #

    “Is it over yet? How about now? Is this the last body part to be rubbed?” I know how you feel.

    You MUST watch Head Case, season one, disc 1, episode 3 or 4 for best massage joke ever.

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