60 minutes of pleasure, 30 minutes of torture

Mom and I went on one last adventure yesterday before she heads back to the mother land. We went for a massage.  Massages here are a little different than they are at the spas in America.  Here are a few differences:

  • it doesn’t smell nice
  • you get a foot soak in boiling water first
  • it’s really cheap
  • the people may be making fun of you but you’ll never know
  • you don’t strip down voluntarily
  • nothing is gentle
  • cries of pain don’t change the circumstances

I am sure the list could go on and on, but I will stop there and tell you about our experience.  It started with a wooden pot of boiling water that they wanted me to submerge my feet in.  I struggled with the desire to keep the skin on my feet and letting it be melted off, but I caved into the peer pressure and sucked it up.  After the nerves in my feet were burned off (or so I thought), the torture began.  My lady started digging into my feet with steel knuckles.  Not really, but it felt like it.   I laughed and cried out in pain, but she only smiled and nodded back to me.  Now, don’t picture her as on old Chinese woman…she was young.  She most likely understood some English, but I think she found great pleasure in my yells.  After the foot relaxation was complete and my neck muscles were more knotted up from clenching in pain, they left the room.  I wasn’t sure if I got us the right package deal and they were returning, or if we were done and should leave.  So, like any normal person, we sat and waited.  We actually turned off the TV that they had put on for, well, for some reason that I didn’t understand since I literally couldn’t understand the TV, and turned on some praise and worship music on the ipod.  Then we lounged on the bed eating watermelon.  Sound like royalty, don’t we?  Lucky for us, they returned.  This is where it got interesting.

Mom likes her massages, and she was intent on getting the most out of her massage.  What that means is that she really wanted to disrobe so they could massage her better.  I, on the other hand, wanted to wear leggings and a turtleneck so they couldn’t touch my skin.  Mom may have tried to remove her shirt twice one time, but the lady kept saying no.  So, imagine my surprise when 3/4 of the way through our 90 minutes, the lady lifted my shirt (I was on my stomach) a little bit.  At first I thought she was going to rub my lower back, but then, in one swift motion, she unsnapped my bra and pulled my shirt over my head.  Where it got stuck.  So I was laying down with my arms straight in front of me (picture Superman), my bra and shirt all tangled in my arms, and she was done helping me.  So, I had two choices, remain in the highly awkward position I was in, or lift up, baring parts of me that no one needs to see to untangle myself.  I really wanted to just lay there.  But because I care about looking stupid, and was already feeling highly humiliated, I went ahead and finished undressing.  Then, horror of all horrors, she yanks my shorts down and exposes half my rear end.  Well, I never!  I thought that all my pride was stripped away after these events, but the small woman had another trick up her sleeve.  She started pounding on me, making all my, ahem, less than muscular parts jiggle.  And when I say jiggle, I mean it was so bad that she started laughing.  So then I was laughing, making the jiggles escalate even more.  It was at this point that I decided I need to make a date with some weights (as I sit here with a latte and a cookie, but that’s beside the point).  

It really was a good massage.  Mostly.  When I factor in that we paid $22 for 90 minutes of massaging, I deem it as a stellar deal!  I may not be able to move today because she relentlessly pressed on all the knots in my neck, but surely that will go away…right?!

Anyone want to come for a visit?  I promise to take you for a massage.  My treat.


4 thoughts on “60 minutes of pleasure, 30 minutes of torture

  1. This one had me laughing out loud! Jason & I also went for massages here. Like you said, “Well, I never!” It was my first and will be my last!


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s