July 15, 2008

• My First Massage.

   

  Nothing says, “YOU’RE FAT!” like a massage.

   

  This past weekend The Franksabunch™ had his first ever massage.  Oh, I’ve had people give me back rubs in the past but prior to Saturday the closest thing I had to a real massage was at the state fair, where The Wife™ paid $20 so I could sit in a chair while a Chinese guy basically practiced Jeet Kune Do on me like I was Chuck Norris and he was Bruce Lee.  But that was shortly after we got married and I had been working out until that point, so I didn’t mind someone doing the 36 chambers on my back.  I actually think the guy had fun massaging me since I actually had muscles and wasn’t shaped like a Krispy Kreme, unlike everyone else there.  (I’ve never been lean and ripped like ibizajb…just thick with some extra love handles, two all-beef patties, cheese and special sauce.)  However, after a year of not lifting weights and bomb diggity cooking, Franksabuff™ turned into Franksablob™. 

   

  

  The Franksabunch™ is here for my massage!  Get in mah beeeeellllllyyyy!!! 

   

  The Wife™’s friends had generously cut a big slice of cheddar to get us a certificate for a couple’s massage as a wedding gift, so we finally cashed it in this past weekend.  I went into that place with much trepidation since I knew that my body was no longer in shape.  After seeing the shape—or rather misshape—of some of the other male customers and their abundance of chest and back foliage I didn’t feel as bad, but the embarrassment still hit me like a frozen herring seconds after they told me to get butt nekkid and under the sheet.

   

  The last time I found myself butt nekkid under a sheet with a strange woman touching me was when I had my appendix taken out.  Unlike the appendectomy this moment wouldn’t leave me with a bill of $16,000, but it also wouldn’t give me any Fentanyl or Versed for sedation!

   

  This massage revealed to me that I have fat tissue of Biblical proportions…and by Biblical proportions I mean the lady’s hands were like Moses and my adipose was parting like the Red Sea.  If it wasn’t for the new age music softly blaring in the background and my own silent screams echoing in my ears, I could’ve sworn that I heard some slurping sounds when she ran her hands down my back.

   

  But that, my friends, was not the worst part.

   

  I had no idea that the lady was going to actually massage my buttocks!  (Isn’t that illegal?!?!?!)  I almost screamed out, “OH NO YOU DIDN’T!” when she folded the sheet into a thong and started squeezing my poi bags, but I was too busy praying to God:

   

  “Dear God, please don’t let me fart right now.  I promise that I will never ever tell a lie or vote Democrat again.  Just please keep me from farting on her.”

   

  I felt more violated than a sumotori whose mawashi was 5 sizes too small and dipped in poison ivy. 

   

  It’s time to hit the gym again.  Anyone with me?

   

  But being in that vulnerable state (one swift hammer movement and the Netherlands would’ve been reduced to Luxembourg) got me thinking about how vulnerable the patients I take care of are.  Anything I do places me in a position of power over someone who has none, even if no nudity is involved and over the years I've become very nonchalant about it (still respectful, though!). 

   

  Physicians are not the only ones who induce vulnerability in others.  We had lunch with Junshien the next day (for the record, Junshien was NOT there at the massage!) and we talked about how even in his job as a photographer he places people in vulnerable positions they may not feel comfortable with.  As a counselor you have the ability to bring healing where there had previously been hurt.  As a financial planner you can be the difference between spending the golden years on a beach in Hawaii or in a trailer on the river.  And as a mother you have the ability to shift the world’s balance in favor of love instead of hate.

   

  We should always have pride in whatever jobs—big or small—that we have, but we should also have respect for the responsibilities imbued upon us for we all at one time or another will find ourselves at the mercy of another. 

   

  I just would appreciate that we leave out the thong and poi bag squeezing part next time.

  ------

  In case any of my wife’s friends are reading this, I really do appreciate the gift.  I’m just still recovering from it physically…and mentally.  Bwahahaha!

   

  For those of you BSG fans, everyone's favorite Cylon Grace Park's new series The Cleaner (starring the ex-Mr. Julia Roberts) starts tonight!  But did they have to describe her character as an "exotic" beauty?  Oh goodness.  Edit #2: Looks like AngryAsianMan and I have similar thoughts about this.  I didn't copy him, I promise!

   

  Edit: One thing (out of many) that was weird about the whole massage day was that I had called in stating, "I'd like to make an appointment for me and my wife to get a couple's massage" but when we showed up together the girl at the counter asked 1) if we'd be getting the massage together or separate and 2) if we'd like to split the remainder of the gift certificate into two different cards, one for each of us.  The first question I can understand, but the second?  Did she think that we were just friends or something?  Sigh.  I guess that's what happens when your wife is 3 moogabillion times more attractive than you are.

  • 10:22 am
  • 64 Comments