After much planning and deliberation I submitted to a REAL massage this morning a.k.a. one that is bought and paid for and executed by someone who is not my husband in a location that is not my bed or the living room floor.
Imagine someone spending 55 precious minutes of intense, not to mention professional attention on your back, shoulders and neck. At first I wasn’t sure if I could handle just lying there for an hour (one hour = sixty whole minutes you know!), but by the end of it I was secretly wondering where the time had disappeared. What? My time is up? Had she pushed the clock ahead?
When I roused myself I felt lighter. I don’t even remember going down the stairs. I think I floated. And oh, am I ever feeling limber and spaghetti-like right now.
I followed it all up with a coffee and a reee-lax at my neighborhood coffee shop. I know, ingesting caffeine after a body-altering massage is the very opposite of everything the massage stands for, but hey, this is my day we’re talking about. Then I browsed around the magazine/newspaper shop and purchased the latest issues of Cloth, Paper, Scissors and Discover magazines.
Go me!
