A massage is supposed to be a relaxing, pampering moment in which a woman is allowed to shut off her busy mind and drift down a tranquil river of serenity. But that never happens, does it? Instead, your mind is cluttered with a whole new set of worries and anxieties
Here are ten things you’ll probably think while getting a professional massage:
1. I hope I don’t fart. And your massage therapist hopes you don’t either. Yes, it’s true you should relax, but that doesn’t necessarily include your butt cheeks. Keep those suckers clinched tighter than a girdle on a preacher’s wife. The last thing you want is the smell of a ripe one floating around a warm room and mixing with the scent of eucalyptus essential oil.
2. This music confuses me. At my last massage, I was convinced that the combination of wind chimes, seagulls and woodwinds being softly pumped into the room was the cover of a track on the Pearl Jam “Ten” album. But I just want to know who actually composed this music and is his/her mother telling friends on Facebook that her child is on the Billboard 100 for Massage Melodies? I sometimes wonder if what I’m hearing is actually even music or is it some kind of trance that’s brainwashing me to buy a Kia?
3. Do I have a medical problem? I’ve never had a massage where the masseuse didn’t gasp and drone on about how tight, knotted or tense I was. One lady actually climbed onto the massage table and pounded a lump in my thigh that she described as “the largest grapefruit-sized knot I've ever seen”. That’s not normal, people. Who can relax when they are concerned they have a tumor? I just wonder if these massage therapist tell all of their clients how deformed their bodies are just to gain repeat business or sell Biofreeze. As a self-proclaimed hypochondriac, I’ve often searched “knots” on Web MD while still wearing my robe. Before I’d left the spa, I was scheduling an appointment with my primary care physician.
4. Is this person trying to kill me? If you opt for a “deep tissue massage”, at some point during your session, you will wonder if your massage therapist is really a contract killer who was hired by the mafia to snub you out. Beating your deep tissues to a pulp has to result in some long-term complications and possibly a spleen rupture. Don’t be afraid to let him/her know that you are in pain and plan to press charges.
5. Did I forget to shave my legs? You probably did. Pray the massage therapist doesn’t slit his/her palm on your leg daggers. But, if he/she does, you could always use your hot towel as a tourniquet.
6. What if someone secretly slips into the room, murders the massage therapist and then proceeds with my massage, all the while I have no clue because my face is buried in this terrycloth donut hole? “Oh, that feels so good,” I fear I will say aloud to some greasy ax murderer with stone cold eyes and missing teeth wearing a dead mechanic’s coveralls. Maybe I’ve seen too many horror movies.
7. I wonder if my body feels weird. This person rubs people for a living. I bet he/she bangs lumps and bumps out of hundreds of firm bodies every day. Does my body- my back fat- remind her of Play-Doh? Knead and roll. Knead and roll. I certainly hope she doesn’t mix the pasty color of my butt cheeks with the darker color on my thighs.
8. I bet my feet stink. Before you found yourself relaxing (read: worrying) on a massage table, you were working or running errands or chasing kids, and your feet probably got sweaty and rancid in the process. As your therapist gets the lotion and tackles the pressure points on your tootsies, you doubt the stench can be covered with a dollop of Bath and Body Works Country Apple.
9. Would it be weird if I moaned? I know it’s hard not to let out a pleasurable noise of ecstasy while your body is being rubbed- even if it’s being rubbed in a non-sexual way. But, yes, it would be weird if you moaned. Don’t do that.
10. Will I ever shut off my mind and relax? Yes, you will. And .2 seconds later, the massage will be over.
When your time of tranquil pampering is done, you can relax again. Have a nice glass of cucumber-infused water, place your greased and stinky apple-scented feet into some slippers and pull out your phone.
Web M.D. awaits.