You are currently browsing the daily archive for February 16, 2015.

For some time now I’ve wanted to write something either profound or outrageous, but nothing comes to mind.  The only outrage in my life nowadays is my lower back, which remains intensely tight and truculent.  Someone gave me at Christmas a gift certificate to the local spa “Happy Healing Hands”*  but I’ve not had time to cash it in. I figured this was as good a time as any to check them out.

I prefer masseurs to masseuses. There are a few contributing factors: I am more comfortable to be exposed to man than a woman.  In general men go more deeply than women in their therapeutic touch. In my experience female massage therapists want to chat more than the males; other than the occasional feedback I prefer silence. ** . Mind!  I’ve had good experience with women. It is just I don’t relax well around them, thinking they are on edge. I wonder if they wonder if I am going to be a creep.

 

Someone regularly forwards to me Hx3 emails reminding me they have lots of appointments and please call. So I did. I announced I preferred a man, and times after 5PM. We then proceeded to reenact Monty Python’s “Cheese Shop” sketch.  In The Cheese Shop phenomena you make requests only to have all of them denied for reasons no two are alike. Despite the list ‘there were multiple openings’ the telephone receptionist shot down all my requests. “Tom” was booked all Monday (although the weekend email said he was ‘wide open’ between 6-9PM).  “Dick” actually had openings but only on Wednesday at 10AM in the morning.  They just hired “Harry” who was eager for new clients, but apparently not on Monday, Wednesdays, or weekends when I wanted one.   I eventually gave up and said I would try later – probably 2017.

I suppose if I allowed a masseuse I would have succeeded. I just might have to do so if I am every going to see Happy Healing Hands make good on their certificate. By then my back will probably have healed on its own, following the Hippocratic approach to Medicine.***   Meanwhile it’s Ben-Gay, Motrin, and small snorts of scotch. With these I don’t need an appointment.

* This is not its real name but for embellishment and legal matters I’ve changed it.

**  With a masseur there is a touch of eroticism viz. the possibility it will transform into some sort of Karma Sutra apotheosis complete with happy ending. I should go on record here this has never happened. Either I go to the wrong establishments or I radiate ‘don’t touch’ chi energy.

*** Hippocrates said “The art of medicine is entertaining the patient while the body heals itself”.

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