Thoughts I've thunk while sippin' at a cup of tea and reading something provoking, often get dropped here for the benefit of humanity and my own hubris.
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After almost 9 solid months of rubbing my wife’s feet without reciprocation, my wife got me a gift certificate for a full hour massage … that’s right, a full hour at one of those spas. At first I was taken aback when they asked me my shoe size, but once I put my tootsies in those therapeutic sandals and walked into a private changing room with a sauna, I realized the best kept secret that every pampered wife from snob hill knows.
And I could get used to this.
After ploppin’ my tired bones on the table and getting situated into that face donut, I made a comment to the massage therapist, “Where’s the little pan under the table to catch all the drool?”
I mean, you could hold it in for a few minutes, but after almost falling asleep while someone is rubbing your shoulders, there is no way that you would even know that the puddle on the floor was from you.
She replied, “Don’t worry, it will just soak into the carpet.”
Now that is disturbing. Perhaps they rotate the massage table to… nevermind.
But I tried to not let it get me thinking, as I vowed to enjoy this massage in this moment… and I did pretty well too. For awhile, that is. However, do you know what my largest distraction was? It was you, gentle reader. For I kept wanting to mentally write this blog entry while this person was digging her elbows under my scapula.
I guess I need more than just a T-shirt, I need a tattoo across my back that reads, “I’m blogging this.”
But I was able to reign in my mental horse, and completely enjoy my massage, and if you were ever in Portland, Oregon, I would definitely recommend talking your wife into buying you a massage over at Rejuvenation Day Spa.
© 2003-2005, Howard Abrams • Except where otherwise noted, all original content is licensed under a Creative Commons License (see details).
Well, I could make some good saliva comments, being a massage therapist myself. But the really good stories are about the snoring! If I’m ever up your way, I’ll bring my table, and give your whole family a fluff and buff they’ll never forget!
You know, massage is extremely good for children, especially for girls! I have a book I’m reading right now called “101 Ways to Help Your Daughter Love Her Body”. One of the first things it says is to massage your baby from birth.
Interesting, eh?
Comment posted on Monday, 20 October 2003Well, every night by the warm phosphor glow over our television set, my wife props her tired feet in my lap, hands me a bottle of lotion, and tells me to get to work. At that same time, I’ll hear a shriek as my two year old daughter will jump in my lap and stick her feet up with the command, “Me fust!”
Of course, her feet are much more ticklish than her mother’s, so she doesn’t last long.
But yeah, I’ve read similar things and often rub my little girls shoulders and backs whenever we get a chance.
I think my unborn son likes it as well, for whenever I rub my wife’s belly, he’ll shove a foot out towards me for me to rub. Guess we all like our feet rubbed.
Comment posted on Monday, 20 October 2003
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