Fair warning: The following post has some graphic descriptions. If you are reading this and I work with you, I don't mind, but if the next time I see you in the hall you can only acknowledge me with a half glance and a deep blush, all I can say is that I warned you: I make reference to underwear and boobs. That being said, I think this is a good post. So enjoy, and keep your head down if you must.
Sometime, some how this week I grew a knot in my left shoulder. It makes my whole arm burn sometimes. I try icing it and heating it but it is slow to go away.
"Why don't you go for a massage?" Lisa asks me on Thursday night.
"You know me, I don't do that stuff."
"So you'd rather just live with the pain?"
"Well by the time I find a place and make an appointment, the pain will probably be gone."
I know Lisa is right, but I have never gone for a massage before. I am pretty sure I have some coverage with my benefits plan, but I'm not really sure how much. I figure it's about time I give this a shot, so I decide to call today and see what I can get.
I manage to get an 8:00 p.m. appointment at a place just a short drive from my house. I shower, shave and put on my favourite pair of underwear--blue, low-rise Joe Boxer bikini briefs. They're my favourite because they have JB stitched on the side (for Joe Boxer of course) and I like to pretend they are monogrammed just for me. As for the routine, well, it's Friday night and I am going to go lay half-naked on some stranger's table so they can rub me down. I want to feel presentable.
The place is in this old townhouse. Inside, it still looks like a house. I am greeted but no one offers to take my jacket, or even invites me to have a seat. The radio is playing Britney Spears'
Womanizer--not exactly giving the zen vibe I am looking for.
I fill out some paperwork and meet my massage therapist, Dan. He's average height, a bit lanky, but cute enough. Skater shoes--blah.
Dan leads me up the stairs into a small room at the front. There is a chair, which I decide will be where I drop my purse and coat.
"Okay, you know how it goes . . ." Dan starts to say.
"No, actually, this is my first time."
"Oh, okay then. Well you remove your clothing except for your underwear and slide in between the two sheets here. You should also take your necklace off."
Okay, great. I nod. Dan leaves and I strip. Now, he only said, "except for your underwear". I assume that means removing the bra, because I know I read that on the website, but if he comes back in and I'm laying face down on the table, bare back, is he going to be like, "oh, you took your bra off too. Oooh-kay then." I shoo the paranoid voices away and unhook my pink bra. I pile my clothes on the chair, decide that I should tuck the pink bra beneath my t-shirt (because clearly, I am just not ready for Dan to see my girly undergarments at this early point in our relationship) and position myself face down on the table.
Dan knocks on the door and I indicate that I am fine for him to come in.
"Oh, I just need to go grab some more oil. I'll be right back."
I take a look at my view: a rather uncomfortable looking wooden stool is directly below. I decide to keep my eyes closed.
Dan comes back ready to go. He starts with a general rub up and down my back.
"So you work at Good Wooden Leg?" he asks.
Oh, I think.
We chat during these things?"Yeah, I'm in advertising," I say.
"Oh yeah, did you go to Red River for that?"
"Yeah, well, actually I did a four-year program with Red River and the University of Winnipeg."
"Oh, CreComm?"
"Yeah."
"I applied to that program but I didn't get in. But I got accepted to massage therapy school at the same time, so it worked out in the end."
Huh. Go figure. I'd always felt that it was by some small miracle that I got into the Creative Communications program. I was going to apply to Architecture, but at the last minute I changed my mind and got my application into Red River. So I got accepted to the Creative Communications program that eventually led me to my career in advertising and my current place of employment, Good Wooden Leg, which provides me with the benefits to cover most of this massage along with the stress to need the massage in the first place. Meanwhile, Dan the Man didn't get into the program but did get into massage school so that he can now be the first one to rub my glutes. Yes, I suppose that is some kind of interesting twist of fate.
He pulls down my JBs as we make small talk. If he's going to do that, why am I supposed to keep them on? I hope the oil doesn't stain them. I mean, oil is really hard to get out of cotton.
The small talk ends and he flips my underwear back up. He moves on to focus on my sore shoulder.
"Is the pressure okay?" He asks.
"Yup." I figure, no pain, no gain, right? And beside, I can take it. He does press in pretty hard. At some points it feels like he is circling his fingernail in there. I won't give in though.
I mentally follow along as he moves up and down my back. It's not quite how I thought it would go. I thought there would be more variety, more moves. That he'd help me discover muscles and nerves that I never knew I had. Nope, I'm pretty sure I've felt all those before.
I keep waiting for the moment to come where suddenly I feel, I don't know, tingly or something. But it doesn't happen. I listen to the music but it's a song I don't like. I wish I had the remote so I could change it or something. I actually consider asking him to skip to the next song. Sigh.
Am I expecting too much? Why can't I just let go and relax already?
I feel the sheet being draped over me.
Is my session over already? It can't be, I paid for 45 minutes and I am certain I've only heard five songs so far. If each song is a maximum five minutes long then I must have at least a good 20 minutes left still.I'm still doing the math in my head when Dan says, "Okay, you can flip over now and slide down a bit."
What? Oh. Okay. I clasp my hands to my chest and do my best to modestly and gracefully "flip". I look up to see Dan holding the sheet up for me, smiling. I lay back down, close my eyes and try to assess my level of nakedness. I really can't tell where the sheet is. In this semi-relaxed state everything feels light and airy, so I keep my hands pressed to myself. I definitely have my left nipple under wraps, but I have no idea where the right one has ended up.
Dan lifts my head and starts doing this thing to my neck. I start to melt and then I finally feel it--the tingling release. It works its way down into my knees and toes and floods out everywhere. Yes!
"Okay, we're done."
What? No we're not! I'm just getting started.
"Take your time getting up. I'll see you downstairs."
I get dressed and notice that I feel a bit woozy. My contacts are all dry. Maybe I should have stayed on the table a bit longer. I turn the doorknob (ew, it's kind of slick) and go meet Dan downstairs. He offers me a glass of water in a plastic cup.
"How are you feeling?"
"Good."
"Would you like to book another appointment, or just call in the next time?" This feels like that awkward part of the date where one person says, "that was fun, we should do this again," but the other person is thinking,
if I get all the green lights on the way home, I should make it in time to catch The Hour with George Stroumboulopoulos at 11.
"No, that's okay, my schedule is all over the place anyway."
"Okay, well, I'll give you my card. I only work Friday nights and Sundays because I'm still in school. But everyone else here is great too."
And then I realize, Dan is still new to this too. Sure, he's got the basics, but he's not ready to do the signature techniques yet. I forgive him. Still, I'd really like to see what a pro could do for me. I guess this means I'm putting my cute glutes back on the market.
