Wednesday, May 9, 2012

Massage Causes Hair Loss

One of the gift cards in my collection was gifted to me by my manager from my working-retail-during-law-school days.  She gave it to me last March as a thank you and as a congratulations on my then impending law school graduation.  It was for a 60 minute massage.  Yes, that's right, I've been hording a gift card for a free massage for over a year.  It's not as if there haven't been opportune times to use it or as if I haven't had the need for stress relief in the last year.  Perhaps when I finished the Pennsylvania bar exam?  Or when I lost a job?  Or when I finished months of traveling for a new job?  Or when I finished the New York bar exam?  Maybe those would have been good times for a massage, you crackpot? 

Except there's a problem.  I don't like to be touched.  Wait, no, that's not accurate.

I don't like to be touched when I'm naked.  Wait. 

I don't like to be touched when I'm naked by strangers.  Yes, that seems reasonable.  And true.

I have a hard time with professional massages.  I have a hard time believing that during an hour of silence when the masseuse has nothing to do but stare at your various naked body parts while touching them vigorously that they are not forming judgments about said body parts.  This causes me to instinctively and self-consciously tense my muscles in the body part being touched so as to try to fool the masseuse into thinking that I am much more in shape than I appear.  Feel that calf!  It is made of muscle, my friend, pure rock-hard muscle.  Yes, despite any and all appearances to the contrary.  Don't you feel foolish?  No, wait, don't touch my thigh yet, I'm not ready.  Okay, now. 

While I am busy flexing, I forget to breathe.  Meanwhile, the monologue in my head is going something like this: "Ahhh, she's touching my thigh.  My thigh, my thigh, my thigh.  Flex!  I bet she can feel me flexing, this is embarrassing.  I don't like this, I don't like this, I don't like this.  That sort of tickles.  Ahhh, she's touching my butt.  My butt, my butt, my butt.  That feels really good.  So weird.  Who knew I held so much tension in my butt?  Okay, stop.  Stop touching my butt. When can we get to the shoulders?"

I still talk to my old manager from time to time and she kept asking if I'd gotten my massage yet.  I felt badly about this because it was such a generous and thoughtful gift and it's not her fault I'm a nutcase, and really, would an hour of a stranger touching my unclothed body kill me?  Probably not.  So I got out the massage menu to pick something and schedule the appointment.  I immediately focused in on the one hour shiatsu option because of two magic little underrated words: fully clothed.  Sold!

So last Saturday, I spent an hour fully happily clothed on a massage table while a very attractive man with strong hands triggered and released pressure points in my neck, shoulders, back, arms, and hands.  It was amazing.  And is probably exactly why I was in the proper what the hell relaxed state to say yes a few hours later when I was asked if I wanted to cut 10 inches from my hair.  It all makes so much sense now. 


chickster said...

If there's anything Vegas taught you it's that you like to get naked and relax after you drink. Next time book a massage, have a few shots beforehand, and enjoy.

I love that you added Girl Crush links to the side so I can check out new blogs =)

Christina said...

This coming from the same girl who advised me to do shots before bikini waxes. That shit still hurt.