It’s the blood rushing to my head because I’m slanted on this table.” “Why is your face as red as a beet?” asked my wife. It felt like I was trying to perform some advanced exercise derived by the folks responsible for P90X. Trying to get on the damn thing, underneath the “serenity shroud” (okay, maybe they did call it a blanket but, with gold on the walls you know they would call it that if they thought they could get away with it) and comfortable was near impossible. I, however, became confused as to why it was leaning on an incline backwards. My wife mounted the table-toilet contraption without difficulty. I thought instead, “Oh, this looks like the lid to a child’s potty training toilet.” I can only assume it was the spa’s subtle way of saying I looked like shit and needed to add a facial to my spa package. I did not think, “Oh, this will be relaxing,” when I saw it. First, the face “port” looks completely uninviting. Mounting the massage table was the first sign that this was not an activity I was going to find relaxing. She left the room as we started stripping. “I want you to strip down and lay on the bed,” the lady said. Once our eyes adjusted to the dim lights, we were led into a back room with an understanding nod.
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Music played in the background, the composition being some sort of instrumental melody rather than Pour Some Sugar on Me. The walls sparkled with some sort of gold glitter. Some female employee was sitting in a plush lobby chair when we entered, smiling through he dim lights in a tight-fitting outfit. Immediately, upon entering the spa, however, my reservations were confirmed. She assured me that they are nice and relaxing, as did many friends. I’m also ticklish.ĭespite my hang-ups with massages, I decided to take my wife for a couple’s massage for our anniversary. These inquiries remind me of the strip club venue, being awkward but without the obligatory smell of shame.
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Masseuses also ask awkward questions “What do you like?” and “What do you want me to work on?” in a coy manner. It brings to mind the clinical setting of my doctor’s office instead of a relaxing environment. There is something about a fully clothed stranger touching me while naked that resonates weird in my mind.