|Photo Courtesy of massageandfacialessentials.com|
After I was through booking the appointment, the receptionist said, "Ok, I have you down for 3:00 with Jacob." I was all, "Great! Thanks, ciao!"
And when I hung up, it dawned on me: a man other than my husband was about to rub all sorts of oil all over my naked skin.
First of all, I'm very protective of my body. I always have been, and I'm certain I always will be. Something quasi-similar happened to me last year when no female gynecologists were available, and a man other than my husband entered me (with a speculum, but whatevs). I was so nervous that I made Hubs come to the appointment with me, and while I didn't make him go in the exam room with me (only because he refused), I did make him sit in the chair closest to said exam room and listen for my screams.
While I knew there would be no penetration in the massage room, it still made me a little uncomfortable to think of some strange dude rubbing me down.
It did not help when I had to fill out a checklist of places where it was ok to be rubbed. These included my gluteals, abs, and pectorals.
Ok, let's talk about each of these sections of my body, shall we? My "gluteal" is something I don't even let my husband SEE naked, let alone rub. I promptly checked the box saying, "If he touches me there, I will kick him in the balls." My abs? Um, what abs? Unless you count the Pilsbury rolls that are my abdomen, there's really nothing there TO rub. I checked the "I have no abs to be rubbed" box, and continued to the pecs. It's been a long time since I've had an anatomy lesson, but I'm pretty sure my "pecs" are right above the area I like to call my "boobs". So I'm assuming it's no surprise to any of you that I checked the "I'm sorry, but I'm not letting you get to second base on our first meeting" box.
I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have wanted a girl to rub my butt, either, but I would have felt a tad more comfortable with the whole situation. I was also worried Hubs was going to be mad, but honestly, I am not sure that Jacob, who probably was twelve years old, was at all interested in the goods I was putting on the massage table.
So, I spent the entire sixty minutes being too tense and paranoid to actually enjoy the rub down, and I went home with an even worse headache than when the whole massage started. I also felt the need to go to confession in order to cleanse myself of my sins, and then I took a hot shower and did seven Hail Marys at bedtime.
Next time I get a headache, I think I'll just go to the mall and feed two dollars into the good ole mechanical massage chair.
Bless me, Hubs, for I have gotten massaged.