Just a head’s up…Today’s post has absolutely nothing to do with crafting, sewing, or even cute kids, but I had an experience over the weekend that was just too
disturbing hilarious strange unbelievable not to share. So if you’re here for the sewing, Thanks for visiting, but you’ll need to stop back later in the week. The rest of you try not to pee your pants as you laugh at me my situation.
Most of you know that my kids are both too small to be interested in giving Mother’s Day gifts. That task falls solely to my husband who is know to be an absolutely horrible gift giver. Please don’t think I’m husband bashing here. He fully admits to it! This is an on going and well documented issue that has taken me years to come to terms with. Now I just make lists and give explicit instructions about what will and will not constitute a proper gift. (That may make me sound like a jerk, but when you get a towel for your Birthday you’ll understand.)
So what does any of this have to do with me being naked at the mall? I’m getting there. I promise.
Last year for Mother’s Day, Corbin had just been born, and I was busy with other worries. I never gave Ant any kind of list or ideas about what to get me. I assumed we would just skip the whole thing and carry on, but evidently Ant had other plans. Instead I received a gift certificate for a hour massage. You’re probably thinking “Wow, that’s great! I’d love to get a massage!”, and I’d say the same if I hadn’t told Ant the last time he sent me for a massage that it wasn’t something I enjoy. I don’t mind getting my nails done, and heavens knows that I need my hair cut, but massages are just not my thing. And there’s also a catch. The place I’m being sent to is in our local mall.
Now I try my darnedest not to be judgmental, but this is not a fancy mall. The place I’m going has a Yin-Yang symbol in place of the O in it’s name for cryin’ out loud! Can you picture the kind of place I’m talking about? Are you cringing a little? Yeah. So I conveniently “forgot” about the gift certificate until the last possible moment. And then three days before the expiration date, I finally sucked it up and went.
Here are just a few of the awesome highlights of my adventure…
Picture a single room with purple and school bus yellow walls and thin marroon carpet. The massage stations (5 of them) are divided emergency room style by curtains hung on tracks from the ceiling. But these aren’t single length curtains like in the hospital. Oh no. These are many short panels held together here and there by binder clips. (yes, the black ones from the office store.) The tables themselves are the standard kind with the hole for your face, but they are covered with a kind of tissue paper (similar again to the hospital). And of course there is that essential “tranquility” music competing with the Seal and Whitney Huston that is being piped through the Mall speakers.
Now comes the good part…
My Massage therapist (is that what you call them?) leads me to one of the cubbies and tells me to strip and lay down. Ok, standard procedure I guess, but I’m hardly paying attention to her heavily accented directions as I take in her outfit. She is definitely rocking the brightest yellow polo I have ever seen in my life along with a pair of leopard print velour pajama pants. I’m so distracted by this, and the fact that I can see the man in the next cubby through the gaps in the curtains that I don’t even notice there is no towel, blanket, piece of tissue paper, nothing to cover myself with. Sweet!
I’m admittedly not the most modest person alive, and nudity doesn’t bother me in the least, but I try to adhere to what’s socially acceptable and not flash strangers at random. So I wait for her to return thinking that she just forgot to leave something for me. I’m wrong, and she didn’t. I’m told again to strip and she stands right there in front of me as I shimmy awkwardly out of my jeans. At this point I’m thanking my lucky stars tht I wore boy shorts instead of something more….um…less. I quickly ditch my shirts and bra as she goes off again, and press my face down into the lovely select-a-size paper towel that is being used to protect the face hole from what I can only imagine is my sweat and..er…drool?
Are you dying yet? Because I sure thought I was!
But don’t worry. It gets even better.
We haven’t even started the massage yet…
She covers me with what has to be the smallest, most scratchy bath towel (maybe it was a jumbo hand towel) I have ever seen and pulls out a giant pink bottle of “massage lotion” (aka Johnson’s baby lotion with the label peeled off.) This is gonna be awesome! (insert as much sarcasm as humanly possible into the previous phrase!) All I can do is lay there thinking “Well, I’m committed now, so lets get this over with…” And that’s when she pulls my drawers down exposing a good two thirds of my rear end. I kid you not! The only part that was previously left uncovered by my shorts (the bottom peaky-out-y bit) is now the only part left covered by those same underpants. I’m covered in goose bumps doing everything I can not to bust out laughing.
Until I hear her talking to another customer who has come into the store requesting a massage.
THE CURTAIN ISN’T EVEN CLOSED!
Anyone who just happens to wander by is totally seeing me laying there with my butt bare to the world!
Now I’m finished laughing. I’m too busy counting down the minutes until this is all over and I can go home and strangle my wonderful husband. (oh, and writing this post in my head of course) How could anyone in their right mind imagine this as a relaxing situation?
“See you next time” she says as I leave…Yeah that’s never gonna happen!
Needless to say Ant felt absolutely terrible when I got home and told him about my experience.
He couldn’t stop apologizing all afternoon. But at least now I know what I’m getting him for Father’s Day!
So, what would you have done? Am I overreacting and this is how massages normally go?
What is the worst gift you’ve ever gotten? Let me hear it. I need to know I’m not the only one!
*Disclaimer- I have absolutely no problem with mall stores, massage therapists, nice little asian ladies,
or husbands. I just found myself in this completely ridiculous situation and wanted to share!