Fruit Inspection

Mom. Me. Massage.

Ah yes, for Mother’s Day this year, my mom and I were treated to a massage thanks to my dad. For Christmas (yes, Christmas) my dad gave each of us gift certificates to a local spa. Oooh, what a treat!

So we decided to wait and use them together on Mother’s Day weekend. She wanted the Swedish massage and I opted for the hot stone massage since it was so enjoyable the last time somebody signed me up for one of those.

But…when I made the appointment the lady told me that only “John” worked with the hot stones. And she asked if I minded if a man gave me the massage.

Hmmmm, I had to think. Not wanting to appear closed minded or pegged as a feminist, I laughed and said, “Oh, nooooo. That’s fiiiiine.” Why should that bother me??? He’s a professional.

So I forgot about it until last week and then I did start to get a little wierded out about a guy who is not my husband rubbing his hands all over my body. I had thoughts running through my head like, “Do I look fat? Is my self tanner working? Should I wait to shave until in the morning.”

Why??? He’s a MALE massage therapist. He probably doesn’t even like girls. Right???

Not that I want him to like me! Hello! I am a happily married woman. The whole idea just began stressing me out. If I didn’t have tension before last week, I sure did leading up to Saturday.

But I kept the appointment. And I enjoyed every bit of it. Except when “John” rubbed my butt cheeks. That was creepy. Everything else was GREAT! Thanks Dad for an awesome Christmas/Mother’s Day present and for letting Emery entertain you with Playdough while I relaxed. You are the BEST!!!