after receiving an injury including alcohol and being a good samaritan, i decided it was time to give massage therapy another shot to make things feel better. i have only had one professional massage in my life, and that was a few years ago…but needless to say, i was a little apprehensive about getting a second.
oh well, what can it hurt? might as well give it another go, i thought to myself.
i called and scheduled an appointment and luckily got right in. i arrived 15 minutes prior to my massage to do paperwork.
the front desk worker comes over to me to review what i wrote down. “so, you had a drunk guy kind of fall on you. that doesn’t sound like fun.”
“it usually never is,” i laughed back.
“well, we are going to have ricardo work on you, and he can target the lower back if you’d like.”
“awesome,” i said.
i wait around for my massage therapist for a few minutes.
hmm, ricardo? the last time i did this, i had a female rub on me. is this going to be awkward with a guy? will he care if i fart in front of him? do we high-five and talk about the lakers while we’re locked in the room together for an hour? and why does he have to sound so feisty already? with a name like that, i can only imagine he’s got caramel colored, lotion infused skin and smells like avocados.
a man that does not fit my aforementioned description walks out to greet me.
“hi, renee? i’m ricardo. you can come right this way,” he says.
“ricardo, i am really sorry, but i haven’t shaved my legs in two weeks,” i blurt out in the lobby, in front of everyone.
“i’m not too worried about it,” he replies.
ricardo leads me down a long hallway with a ton of private rooms. i immediately wonder if this is what a brother would look like.
“whoa! this place is huge,” i say, possibly louder than i should. here i am, yelling down a long hallway when people are trying to relax in the rooms that i am passing.
ricardo leads me in to a room. “you can go ahead and get ready, i’ll be waiting outside. just crawl under the sheets when you are all set.”
“okay, but how do you want me? how naked do i get?” i asked.
“well, it’s up to you. but i will let you know that the less clothing you wear, the higher quality massage it will be.”
oh! i’ve heard this one before. stupid college.
although i laugh to myself, i still decide that i am stripping down to my undies. i am such an easy ho.
ricardo re-enters the room after i have climbed in to position. we chat briefly about what hurts, and then he goes to town.
now, i know massage therapists need lotion, but i have never noticed that some choose to keep it in an apron pocket. let’s keep in mind that i have a male masseuse, wearing an apron, who keeps pumping lotion in to his hand in the same general vicinity as his genitalia.
i can’t even get a massage without wanting to crack up hysterically. i will never grow up.
anyway, he works around me, and as he is walking from one side of the table to the other, kneading my skin, i feel a light brush on the top of my head.
wait. did i just accidentally get tea-bagged by ricardo? ricardo, did you just tea-bag me? i mean, really. when someone’s balls are in that close of proximity to my head, i always assume the worst. oh well, let’s keep this massage train rolling…tea-bagging and all.
as i was listening to the music, and pondering about my recent possible sexual encounter with ricardo, i thought about asking him to turn on the radio.
do people request songs or radio stations? i mean, some people might like the sound of birds chirping while they are flying over a large body of water, but i don’t really find that to be soothing. can we put on a top 40 radio station and hope that miley cyrus is on? nothing soothes me more than guessing that miley cyrus is going to end up a train-wreck like lindsay lohan.
i decline my urge to request new melodies for the sake of ricardo.
no wonder he probably tea-bagged me…here i am, relaxing, while he is hard at work, lubing up my obviously-neglected, never-seen-the-sight-of-a-razor legs. i am such a jerk.
an hour goes by faster than it should have. “okay, renee, we are all set here. go ahead and get dressed and i will be right outside the door,” ricardo mentions.
i put on my garments and walk out, where ricardo is waiting with a glass of water. i hand him a twenty. in a weird way, i kind of feel like eliot spitzer. i am sure his extra-curricular activities involved him locked in a room for an hour with a person of the opposite sex, that ended in a monetary exchange.
nope. i’ll never grow up, i tell ya.
