And as nice as the idea was to relax and maybe relieve some of that tension where my book bag always is, it was sort of a terrible idea because (a) I am extremely ticklish and (b) I have extremely sensitive skin. I forgot both, maybe because of my emotional troubles, until I was laying on the table, naked under a towel with my face in a doughnut-shaped pillow.
Massages are just weird. I mean. There's a stranger pushing and pulling your muscles, touching your skin, seeing your bare back, and it's completely normal! Granted, I wasn't really embarrassed at being nude in front of a stranger, figuring that this guy must see plenty of women anyway, and frankly, I didn't care because it's not like I'm packing anything interesting. I felt almost grown-up at how comfortable I was with the idea.
So you're half naked under a sheet, someone's hands are on you, and you're trying your best not to laugh, because you know that laughing once will give way to more laughter, despite the fact that your knees, legs, ankles are the most ticklish part of you.
I tried to channel Wesley from The Princess Bride where he takes his mind away when Prince Humperdink tortures him. I just had to focus on something else. Breathe. I could do this. Grown ups had massages. They weren't ticklish.
But the only thing on my mind right now was my recent break-up, and I didn't want to think about that.
So when I felt hands near my armpits, I snorted. And when I heard myself laugh, it made me laugh again, because I failed. And I had to apologize profusely, and the masseuse reassured me that it was okay and moved to another part of my body to work on. But just with that first laugh, it opened a wave of it. So when the masseuse's hands came close to my hips, I snorted again, and I could hear him sigh and say "okay, then" almost defeatedly as he moved to my legs.
I imagined a sort of body drawing in his head, where his masseuse training taught him where zones to work on for stress. I thought about how he must be mentally crossing off parts as a no-touch-zone for me because I just kept laughing. Like "oh great. Here we go!"
If you were the masseuse, how do you get your mind wrapped around the fact that this is a complete stranger that you're touching?
I would never be able to do it.
And my skin? Well, any sort of pressure actually makes me break into a rash. My skin sort of blossoms from abuse, like if I just scratch myself, I'll have a puckering red line right there. So it was sort of ten-fold that with hot stones and my bare back.
A few thoughts as I got all of this done to me were...
"This has to be an hour now, right? We're done now? Oh. He's touching my knees. Don't laugh. Don't."
"It would be so gross if he sneezed right now."
"This was a terrible idea. I regret this immediately."
"This was a terrible idea. I regret this immediately."
"Where do I put my hands?"
"Do not make small talk. Do not ease tension with a joke."
"A good joke would deal with something like saying 'do you knead anything?' But there's too much context necessary for that pun."
"Aaaaannnnndddddd that's my butt."
So I can't say if I felt relaxed entirely, but it did make me feel like I went to yoga without actually going to yoga. So I count it as a really good workout.
Feeling: My back kind of hurts actually. Listening: Wind. I wrote this on my phone, outside.