10 Totally Effed Up Thoughts I Had During A Massage
The other week, I wrote about a fancy pedicure I suffered through. This is the second and even more uncomfortable part of that story.
When the aesthetician was explaining the components of the spa pedicure, I knew I had to have it because it was both fancier and more hardcore than the regular pedicure. Special callous removing softening foot mask? Count me in. The woman also mentioned a ten minute foot massage. I immediately let her know that would not be necessary. In fact, I would prefer ten minutes in a snake pit or ten minutes of street fighting. She was not interested in taking no for an answer, insistent that I was going to get my money's worth. The nerve! In lieu of the foot massage, she offered a back massage. Considering I already seemed like a completely disturbed individual, I accepted that offer despite the fact that I not only dislike getting my feet rubbed, but I dislike any and all rubbings from strangers.
In my experience, massages range from terribly boring to downright stomach churning. I was never a massage-train loving girl at slumber parties. I didn't know what I was doing if a friend asked my to rub her back and I didn't want anyone kneading away at mine. One of my exes liked when I rubbed his back and I'd do it because I loved him and the thought of touching him didn't make my skin crawl (we had sex together regularly). I never once asked him to reciprocate. More than once, my friends have asked if I'd be into getting “cheap massages” with them. Um, not really. I mean, absolutely not under any circumstances whatsoever. Can't we just do what we normally do and not get naked rubdowns from people we don't know? The event I'm talking about was going to be my very first professional massage.
The back massage was set to happen after the pedicure was complete, but not yet dry. Keep in mind that the woman doing my nails told me to take my pants off before the whole ordeal began. Wrapped in a too small towel, the walk from the spa chair to the massage contraption felt like the walk between a hospital room and a hospital bathroom. This nice lady who was pampering me asked me to get on this chair-like thing (pictured below). It looked sort of like exercise equipment and sort of like something out of a physical therapist's office. Embarrassingly enough, I had to ask her to demonstrate how to mount the padded thing. I had to approach it head on and just plop myself down face first, my legs propped up. The position of my body was somewhere between laying on my stomach and being on all fours. My butt was out. She put an egg timer on for 10 minutes. Then it began.
Here are 10 totally fucked up thoughts I had during a back massage:
- This is definitely considered a stress position. They probably have these contraptions at Guantanamo Bay.
- This is the exact position I imagine aliens put humans in for anal probes.
- “You're stressed out” she said. I responded with a nervous giggle, but I meant to say “BIG TIME.”
- This is the most intimate thing that's ever happened to me.
- If this woman wanted to just snap my neck right now, she could.
- I wish I could read or watch something through this face hole.
- She's just been alternating between punching me and pinching me for a while.
- I have completely lost my ability to track time. Does that mean I'm getting used to this?
- Maybe if I'd taken a benzo or had a glass of wine, I wouldn't be in emotional agony right now.
- The egg timer is going off! I'm free. Why is my vision blurry?
Am I the only freak on a leash on this earth who can't relax enough to be massaged? It took me the entirety of my 40 minute commute home to calm down and work through that micro-trauma. Never again.
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