It’s been a stressful week. By Tuesday evening, I’d already clocked 30 hours of work… and if you count Sunday, which is theoretically a day off, the tally was closer to 36 hours.
By the time Thursday afternoon rolled around, I was spent. On a whim, I picked up the phone and called to see if my massage place had any cancellations that evening – they did. So an hour later I found myself stripping down for a massage.
Normally I get massages on the weekend, walking the five miles to the studio in yoga clothes. Thursday, however, my routine was totally thrown off since I was coming straight from work.
When my masseur – a big, burly guy named Errol who contagiously giggled like a girl – left the room so I could change, I panicked. My outfit was COMPLICATED to remove, and I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to strip down before he came back to knock.
For starters, I was wearing a collared button down shirt with half-pearl buttons, which are slippery and tough to work back through the holes. Knowing I was up against the clock only made me fumble more. Then came my socks. In and of themselves, they weren’t that tricky. But I’ve started wearing fluorescent orange compression sleeves over them (don’t ask) which are a feat to remove.
I felt like I was in a race. I tried to reassure myself, knowing he’d knock to make sure I was ready before re-entering the room. But I’ve always found that exchange to be a bit like a conversation with an adult from Peanuts: I hear the knock and a muffled question, and I’m not sure if I’m supposed to say, “OK” or nothing. Whatever I choose, they seem to come in regardless, so I decided the knocking wasn’t much of an insurance policy.
Don’t get me wrong – I’m actually not modest and wouldn’t actually care if someone walked in on me naked. But it’s awkward. Like when I was at the gynecologist a few weeks back and the nurse whipped in the room to see if I’d been given a gown – only to find me already bare-assed in the middle of the room, stepping out of my underwear.
“Oh geez!” she said, clearly startled. “I’m so sorry!”
See what I mean? She was going to see me naked only a few minutes later, so it wasn’t my nudity that bothered her – it was that I wasn’t where she expected me to be. It was as awkward as if she’d walked in and found me crouching on top of a filing cabinet. So that’s what was going through my head as I changed for my massage. Must. Get. Under. The. Sheet.
Fortunately, I made it. But in the process, I forgot to run my fingers between my toes. I always do that to make sure there’s no random sock lint, because I think if I were a masseuse, I’d puke if I had to rub someone’s feet and I encountered toe jam. Before I could remedy the situation, Errol reappeared. Crap. Whatever.
Errol was awesome, and I’m not just saying that because he complimented me on having well-developed lats. Which, now that I think of it, might actually NOT have been a compliment.
In any case, we’d established a chatty rapport, so when he got to my feet I said, “Hey, I’m sorry – I totally forgot to check for lint.”
He had only my right leg and foot exposed at that point, and he responded, “Please. Your feet are in great shape. You should see some of the dogs I have to walk. I just close my eyes and jump right in.”
“Careful,” I cautioned, “You haven’t seen the left one yet.” And because this is how my brain works, I continued, “How awesome would it be if it was all snarled and I was missing toenails? You’d feel horrible.”
Apparently, Errol didn’t share my sense of humor, because he was pretty quiet after that. Lesson learned: Never relax so much that you think strangers will appreciate your warped mind. It will just make them sit in silent judgment. Which – if you’re getting a massage – actually turns out to be OK.
Or maybe he’d seen this clip and thought he was on a hidden camera:
pithypants 
Haha, I thought it was funny. I forget people don’t know me too, though, and throw sarcasm or my weird humor at them. Fail! They look at me like I’m crazy or just mean.
I love Ellen- now that was funny, I don’t care who you are.
I love how game Beckham is to make an ass of himself. Have you seen the Target set-up they did? Ridiculous.
I know, he was great. I haven’t seen any of these, but I’m gonna have a sit down with YouTube later to check some more out!
First of all, the story was hilarious and I get it. I would have seriously been pushing my ass up against the door to ensure nobody walked in on me. Secondly, the kitty video – my husband might die of cuteness. Thirdly, now the only thing I will be able to think of for the entire day is David flipping Beckham. And I WAS over him. You suck.
Do I suck? Or am I awesome? Because life is just a bit more beautiful with Beckham in it.
Haha I love Ellen! “don’t use your thumbs!”
“Did I just feel a thumb?” definitely using that during my next massage.
ha! so good. have you seen the other clips she does? the one with sofia vergara (from Modern Family) is really funny too!
No! Must. Google. Now.
there’s another one that takes place in a starbucks but i can’t remember which actor it is. but she makes the guy walk in and announce “{his own name} is here!” or something like that.
Dude. I love you. You are very funny. And this post is funny. But capping it with the Ellen/Beckham segment is slaying me. Makes me miss Rupert Ji on David Letterman.
It wasn’t until the Ellen segments that I added David Beckham to my Covet list. He’s too short. But – check this out and see if you don’t agree: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y4yDNWlvK6s
Funny! The kitten massage is hysterical, too.
I’d name that cat Muffin. For sure. Because he’s makin’ muffins on that other cat!
And I thought it was just me getting stressed about a doctor walking in on me before I’m ready. Sure, sure, she’s going to see all of me in a few minutes but I like it to be on my terms. Do I have a control issue?
Not unless, like me, you get a pedicure that you know will match the gown. That might be an indicator of control issues.
So wait… you talk to your masseur? Art the Indistinguishably Asian Massage Therapist and I talk before and after my Experience, but never, ever during. That is Quiet Time. Eyes closed. Sometimes a little drooling. Question: have you ever forgotten to shave before a massage?
The better question: Have I ever remembered to shave before a massage? Rarely. I usually just mentally shrug and think, “Well, it’s probably still less gross than dealing with a man’s legs.” Or were you talking about my armpits?
OMG totally thought the same thing last time, but equivocated because I’m not a man. Also Art tends to get a little high on the thigh.