My first massage.
It's a little weird if you think about it too much. Alone and nearly nudie in a darkened room with a stranger touching you for an hour.
I loved it.
I was kinda nervous going into it though. What do I wear? I can't forget to shave. What if I get razor burn? Are my feet normal? Will she be able to tell I have no muscles? What if she's a he? What if I have to go to the bathroom? Are the drinks free?
Now you know why I needed a massage.
Things started off great; I quickly learned how impossible it was to talk with my face pressed into a doughnut and finally just let myself relax.
So much so, in fact, that I may have drooled onto the floor a little bit while she worked on my shoulders. Just a little bit. I'm sure other people have totally done that.
So I'm relaxing, clearing my mind, and enjoying myself when a little bit of air got trapped between my masseuse's hand and my shoulder. "Pffft!" Right into my ear.
A massage toot.
I wanted to laugh so so bad. After several minutes of thinking unfunny thoughts I was able to suppress my inner 12 year old boy and go back to enjoying the massage.
When it was done I somehow was able to turn down the sales pitch for a membership (they are smart to try and sell it to you after) and go out to my car where I looked in the mirror and saw lines imprinted all over my face from the doughnut.
It was wonderful. I would recommend to all the husbands who read this blog (um, probably none) to get their wives a massage for Valentine's Day. She will sing your praises for weeks.