so, until this morning i had forgotten about the credit i have at a local day spa. the reason i have credit is that, about two seasons ago, i went in on a whim for a half hour massage. the massage was excellent. it also lasted about 17 minutes.
now, while in "real" life i'm no walk in the park, as a spa client i'm pretty low maintenance. i mean, you put me in a robe and give me a glass of sparkling and trail mix...after that you've really got to try to make me mad. (examples include but are not limited to: waxing my eyebrows so thin that i look like a gangsta, putting the steam all up in my grill during a facial, cutting cuticles).
so, it took me a full day to call management and say, "look. 17 minutes. not okay."
i jogged past the place today, stopped, turned, went in, made massage appointment for thirty minutes later.
"do you want a male or female," she asked.
okay, back story: when i was nineteen, a male massage therapist assaulted me in charleston. not kidding. will refrain from going into detail. and, ever since, i've only gone to gays and girls. inexplicably, though, today i said:
"a man. a manmanman."
no idea why i said it. okay, perhaps some foggy clue...
anyway, chet was nice and tall and attractive and named chet. here's the thing, though. he spent--i'm not kidding--twenty minutes on my face.
as in, my chin and stuff.
then, an inordinate amount of time laboring away at my clavicle, my heels, an elbow.
meanwhile, i spent a large amount of time sunday straddling the bathtub and painting my CEILING, so this obscure little part of body called the BACK was left killing me.
and, as we all know, i was so angry sunday that i ran four miles listening only to "a milli." so my legs weren't great either.
anyway: weird. weirdweirdweird.
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I really hate to state the obvious and I know you'll disagree with me because I'm the type of girl who sends her food back if it's not exactly what she ordered, which I get the feeling you would never EVER do, but you, um, are allowed to tell them which parts of your body you want them to focus on.
Although last time I tried that, Chet didn't touch my vagina even once.
i know. i know. i did manage a day spa. rationally, this sort of thing isn't lost on me. but, as aggressive and frank as i am, when it comes to stuff like this...i'm all weird and polite and mute. but, at least my clavicle is now in check.
Okay, so this doesn't exactly work with the post, but I don't have Mamie's addrss, nor Sally's, and I lost Hannah's. I'm efficient and organized that way. So this will have to do:
You all must read The Thin Place, by Kathryn Davis. I just finished it last night and I'm all agog. Kind of like Keri Hulme, who wrote the Bone People, crossed with someone who does sweeping epics of place/town - at times she reminded me of Steinbeck, at times Marilynne Robinson, at times Anne Tyler. But it's odd, I mean - the syntax is strange. So beautifully surreal, she is. It's like a history of one town's consciousness.
Anyway, the point is I'd never heard of her, and yet here she is, and this book is the most exciting thing I've read in 2 years since Everything is Illuminated. So go get it! Cause y'all know I have good taste.
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