In Praise of Massages
Today, I took my weekly advantage of one of the few perks my company provides... well, it's not really a perk since I pay for using it. Every Tuesday, two licensed massage therapists come into the building for some stress relief. "Tiny", the husband of the duo, is a classic gentle giant who specializes in laying me on a table then, using his telephone-pole sized forearms, lengthens my spine a centimeter or two. I can feel all sorts of tiny muscles between my vertabrae being stretched.
What is that song Bernadette Peters sings in "Young Frankenstein"... sweet mystery of life or something?
I've been hooked on massages ever since my best friend (of the female persuasion) Dudette dragged me to one during our grad school days. It was literally one of those "where have you been all my life?" moments, and that was before any theraputic aspect came into play thanks to a back injury brought on by a moment's carelessness during a workout. (Let that be a lesson to you gym rats - it takes only one mistake to screw yourself up but good.)
And of course, the only thing better than the 20 minute sessions I get on the worksite are my semi-annual splurges for the full 60 minute slices of heaven. In fact, one of (if not the) best Christmas gifts I got last year was a gift certficate for that slice of heaven, courtesy of the aforementioned Dudette. (And how have I repaid such sweetness and kindness? By coaxing her into watching "24" on a weekly basis, rather than letting her save up the eps until it's almost over so she and TheBigGuy can go on some sort of bender. The suspense of having to wait a whole 7 days to see how ol' Jack Bauer works his way out of the current cliffhanger is killing her. Aren't I a terrible friend?)
It used to be the chief domain of frilly-girly spa things. But, thankfully, "real men" are waking up to this too. Trust me, you have no idea how good it feels to have someone with a skilled set of fingers find and unkink "trigger points" you didn't know you had. I'm considering taking a class on how to give one properly, just to add it to my resume of why I'm a Great Catch. What sane gal wouldn't want a guy who could find and melt away all those nasty little kinks and knots? I ask you...
What is that song Bernadette Peters sings in "Young Frankenstein"... sweet mystery of life or something?
I've been hooked on massages ever since my best friend (of the female persuasion) Dudette dragged me to one during our grad school days. It was literally one of those "where have you been all my life?" moments, and that was before any theraputic aspect came into play thanks to a back injury brought on by a moment's carelessness during a workout. (Let that be a lesson to you gym rats - it takes only one mistake to screw yourself up but good.)
And of course, the only thing better than the 20 minute sessions I get on the worksite are my semi-annual splurges for the full 60 minute slices of heaven. In fact, one of (if not the) best Christmas gifts I got last year was a gift certficate for that slice of heaven, courtesy of the aforementioned Dudette. (And how have I repaid such sweetness and kindness? By coaxing her into watching "24" on a weekly basis, rather than letting her save up the eps until it's almost over so she and TheBigGuy can go on some sort of bender. The suspense of having to wait a whole 7 days to see how ol' Jack Bauer works his way out of the current cliffhanger is killing her. Aren't I a terrible friend?)
It used to be the chief domain of frilly-girly spa things. But, thankfully, "real men" are waking up to this too. Trust me, you have no idea how good it feels to have someone with a skilled set of fingers find and unkink "trigger points" you didn't know you had. I'm considering taking a class on how to give one properly, just to add it to my resume of why I'm a Great Catch. What sane gal wouldn't want a guy who could find and melt away all those nasty little kinks and knots? I ask you...
posted by The Doctor at Tuesday, February 08, 2005
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