It’s the Thought That Counts/Valentine Monk Gone Wrong
It all started with a text, how’d it end up like this?
My husband was getting a hair cut; I was at work.
Him: I just purchased you a 45 minute massage for Saturday morning at 10 a.m with a licensed massage therapist … can you make it, right here in (blocked for privacy) next door to granite store?
Him: Great haircut as well
Me: What???? Really?
Him: Is that okay … I have to let ‘Fred’ (name changed for privacy) know if you can’t make it. ‘Fred’ will serve you …. hehe. I figured get it done early so you can get on with your day.
Me: Well yeah!
(Side note: Get on with my day??? I’m getting a massage, there will be no more day.)
Him: Awesome! I didn’t get you a haircut, just a massage, what I meant is that they offer great style options.
(Another side note. I laugh/bleated at that clarification. He was there getting a hair cut. The fact that he didn’t know there are endless haircut options endeared me to him.)
Him: I’ll bet you’re the most stunningly beautiful lady Fred gets his hands on in many years …
That was Thursday.
He left for Chicago early this morning and, the time had come today.
I upped the 45 minutes to Fred’s usual hour and a half explaining I’d pay the difference, because, my GAWD, I need a massage!!!!!
My husband left concerned and insecure – “If there’s something he does that you like, may you teach me it?”
Yes, yes I would.
I’ll now go on to explain why that will never be necessary.
I arrived 10 minutes early. I always arrive early. Walked into a salon, put my mask on, and was greeted by a very small dog.
Explained to ‘lady in salon’ that I was there for my massage.
‘Masseuse’ walked in past our arranged time.
Still petting dog.
‘Fred’ gestures me over to his desk.
Now, I have to point out, my appointment was for 10:00 a.m.
It’s past that.
I join him, masked, at his desk as he proceeds to pull out a … um … schematic of the human body and doctor-like questions.
Okay – he’s very thorough.
15 minutes later, and many intrusive questions later – I’m led to a little room with a red light.
I knew it would be an hour and a half, and have the bladder of a hamster, so, asked, “Where may I use a restroom?”
As luck would have it (dripping with sarcasm here) it was right next to the red light district, oh, I mean, massage room.
I get back, “Okay, undress, keep what you’re comfortable having on and yell really loud when you’re ready.”
Retaining undies and under blankets, I yell out, “READY!”
Looking back – I wasn’t.
SO! I’m undressed, except for undies. Monk walks in. Lovely Indian music playing, candle lit.
That’s basically where it ended.
I had body parts removed from the sheets whilst he breathed heavily and tenderly touched my body.
(It doesn’t go unnoticed by me that that sounds like an amazing beginning to a murder mystery novel lol.)
But no, too tender.
As he ‘massaged’, I tried to float off – be in the moment.
He still breathed heavily, as if I was a Yoga session, yet, he was breathing FOR me. Literally touching my skin and exhaling every.single.time.
Also, I could hear the salon. “You can’t put two properties on your land!” (Me, with over 15 years in the industry) is literally ready to hop off his table and cover myself in a sheet and explain the details and explain ‘Real Estate 101’.
Things got ‘Okay’ for a little while. Still dragging little parts of me out from under the covers and ‘touching’ them; not really ‘massaging’ them.
He’s still exhaling (loudly) … I’m trying to block everything out (including him) and enjoy this HUGE treat.
Then, THEN, came the stretching – Um – I signed up for a massage!
Literally, each leg was taken out of the sequestered blanket and pushed over my head, straightened. Then once more, just to prove that my extension had been improved.
I’m over an hour into (not literally ‘into’ but, time wise) this and regretting being excited.
He’s talked, and talked, and breathed, and breathed.
I know now he’s 74, just got his license 2 months ago after 800 hours. etc. etc. OH! I learned this during a face massage when he poked me in the eye. And, first of all, I don’t wear make-up, so, I DID enjoy the face massage. But, don’t assume that. A lot of people don’t expect that and DO wear make-up.
My hubby bought me 45 minutes for $40. Let’s remember this part.
He finds a wound on me under my ‘scapula’ that he awoke (and not in a good way, I told him about it during our Scientology paperwork beforehand) and it now hurts when it hasn’t for a long time!
He barely touched my feet.
Barely touched my neck.
Then, wanted to massage my stomach. After all, I’d mentioned a surgery I had when I was little – so, he felt for my organs.
I jokingly said, “Yes, please make sure my pancreas is okay”.
He then pulls out this AMAZING gadget! It massaged! Hit points he didn’t for the entire time!
Wanted to ask him where that had been the entire freaking time. lol. For the first time, he was concerned about hygiene, there was a towel between me and the machine.
THEEEEEEEEEEE ENNNNNNNNDING – was huge.
He literally got down by my head, ‘swooped’ my hair off the table and said loudly, “LEAVE HER!”
I glanced at my clothes, at my body – at … reality.
Sat up, shrugged my t-shirt on, no movement from the door, so – got completely dressed.
A 45 minute session was $40. Yet, an hour and one half was $90? Don’t you reduce your price for bulk? I dropped, kindly, 20% and left feeling like a freaking ass with a sore ‘scapula’ and $70 lighter.
I love the thought. He couldn’t have known. AT ALL! He got a great hair cut, and I got a great story!
Missed you guys!
Happy Valentine’s Day!