So… the other day, I finally got my kinks rubbed out of me at a day spa. My aches and pains had been piling up in me for a couple of years, ever since I injured my right arm and shoulder in 2012, which left me virtually immobile for several months… and in ongoing miscellaneous chronic pain since then. (SIGH)
My dad gave me a gift card for the spa last Christmas, but I had been very nervous about letting anyone put their hands on me, since I’ve been kinked up for so long. I thought for sure that getting a massage would kink me up even more. So it took me a while to get my courage up to use the card.
(I am laughing as I type all this out… forgive me.)
ANYWAY… I alerted my masseuse to the fact that I’d been dealing with the repercussions of my injury for the past couple of years, so that she wouldn’t be shocked if I winced when I was supposed to be relaxing. (I did have to take a lot of deep breaths as this treatment went on.)
The part I always find interesting is how massage technicians are able to find the exact spot on my body that is in the utmost agonizing pain… without me even pointing it out. “There’s a lot of scar tissue here,” she told me, gouging her knife-life fingers into me.
DEEP BREATH… “Yep, that’s exactly where my muscle was torn…” (or whatever it is that’s back there under my shoulder blade). Actually, that was only one of the five places my body had gotten torn up, but… at least she did find that one really painful one.
The good news is that, after this experience, I was not in any pain at all. YEA.
Of course, having remembered what it’s like to be spoiled this way, I will now be requiring massages every day for the rest of my life. Okay, okay… I will settle for once a week. Well, maybe just once a month. Sigh… three times a year is my final offer. Wait a minute… why am I talking about settling??? Let’s go back to the “every day” idea. Now the only question is… where?
Oh! One more thing: One of the best parts of this little spa visit was sitting in the waiting room with a warmed-up oatmeal pillow around my neck and “reading” the only magazines available, three issues of Men’s Fitness. At first, I found it strange that a spa that is frequented almost entirely by women only offers manly magazines for us to pour over while we wait. (1 + 1 = ?)
I do think you guys are kinda lucky. You get fun little headlines on articles, such as: “Go deep at the green market.” This article was about shopping for veggies. What is so “deep” about Italian plum prunes (or was that prune plums?), I’m not sure… and the article didn’t clarify. Sigh.
But, after a while, it became very clear to me why these men’s magazines were selectively placed in our presence. Tucked inside each one, the publisher had cleverly included multiple advertisements for men’s cologne… the kind with the little strip of fragrance on the side that you can peel off and smell. Most of these had been previously ripped into by prior spa customers. So, of course, I had to test-smell them myself to see what all the fuss was about.
As it turns out, I didn’t like most of the scents with which the men in the ads were attempting to woo me. There was only one fragrance that even came remotely close to inspiring me to dream wistfully about walking along a Mediterranean beach hand-in-hand at sunset with a handsome, passionately romantic suitor: Bvlgari Aqva.
Anyway, I suppose the spa has figured out that there is some sort of useful psychological effect to making its female customers smell manly scents prior to treatment.
(I am as shocked as you are.)