My Trip to the Masseuse
If I told you how many times I questioned whether I should really do this…or just cancel the appointment, you’d probably have me pegged as a woose. I’m really not. I’m just not particularly decisive, especially where it concerns me personally. Sure, I can make the decision for my husband or my kids. I think this is because their actions directly affect ME, whereas I directly affect no one. At least I don’t think I do. I mean, as long as dinner is put on the table, I don’t think anyone really gives me the time of day.
I made this appointment Monday morning after hemming and hawing over it since last week. Why is it so hard? Am I afraid or am I just selfless?
It isn’t the most convenient location, but the masseuse came highly recommended by a friend who just happens to be a physical therapist. She should know, right? It seems as though you can get a massage anywhere these days. Even at the mall! I’m thinking if they are working at a kiosk in a shopping mall, chances are they aren’t very reputable.
I really didn’t know what to expect. She just had a two room office. One was a waiting area and the other the massage area. That was all. There was some soft, relaxing music playing, also. When I walked in, I knew she had a client, but I saw the clipboard on the table with a stack of forms. I knew what I had to do.
- Name. Easy.
- Address. Easy.
- Am I active? Easy.
- What do I do for a living? Easy.
- Have I ever had a massage before? No. Really, no. Well I had a weird kind of massage at a place in Salt Lake City once, but it wasn’t particularly earth shattering.
- Any places you would like us to concentrate on? Oh yeah…that left hammie. Lower back, maybe? And the shoulders if there is time.
After a little Q and A, she led me to the other room. It was small, warm, and inviting. “Underwear off or on,” she said. “You decide.” I’ll leave them on, I thought. After all, it IS my first appointment. She left me to undress and I didn’t even know if I was supposed to take my socks off. I mean, you don’t have to take them off at the gyno, do I have to take them off here? (I left them on)
The table was warm…ah, oh so warm! And after a few quick questions and instructions, she was at work.
Wow. And WHY did I wait so long to do this? She hit EVERY spot that was giving me issues and even hit every spot that I didn’t know was giving me issues. It was, by far, the best hour I’ve ever spent doing nothing. After it was over, I had a ton of questions.
My first question? When can I come back. It was like selling candy to a 6-year old with a $5 bill stashed in his pocket. She recommended three sessions – two weeks apart – and then routine maintenance after that. Like a car…no, like a smooth, well-treated running machine. SOLD to the lady in neon. You have any Snake Oil to sell me? Cause I’ll buy it from you!
My next question? How do you know? Can you feel it? Do you feel my reaction to your hands? And where can I get those hands anyway? Are you selling some of those, too? Cause I’ll take them. In fact, just kick my husband out. You can have HIS spot.
I couldn’t remember any more questions. I was in a massage induced haze.
Could I have gotten anything like this in physical therapy? I think not. Will it fix me? Maybe. Does it feel good? Definitely! That is what matters. I’ll update you in two weeks. I’m already counting down the days.
Have you ever had a massage? What kind? What did it do for you?