SSG and the Hot Masseur

One of the coolest things about this whole spring cleaning/purging/nesting bidness that SSG has been doing over the last couple of months is that she keeps unearthing small treasures.

Not metaphorical treasures, though those have been happening too, but like ACTUAL treasures.  Of monetary value.  

  

Like new water goblets.

And checks I never cashed.   

And cute kitchen towels with cupcakes on them.

Oh!  And gift cards.

Which is exactly how I ended up in the lobby of a local spa on Friday night.

The only appointment available at 6 p.m. was for a hot stone massage.  A type SSG has steered CLEAR of after seeing the stone size blister her sister received on her back during one such massage.

SSG:  Didn't it, I don't know, HURT?!  How did you not scream when this thing was BURNING YOU?!

SSG's Sister (Hi Winner!):  I thought it was part of the process.  Like work through the pain or whatever.

SSG must have looked all face-twisty from the memory, because the guy was like "TRUST ME, it won't hurt.  It's awesome."  

And who wouldn't take the opinion of a cute 17 year old gay spa receptionist that looked like he could have been a contestant on American Idol?  Not SSG.

SSG:  (Holds out her arm.)  Twist it.

17 year old gay spa receptionist:  (Claps.)  Yay!  You're gonna love it.

And as he walked away, he uttered the fateful words: "I'll just let Todd know you're here."

SSG froze.

Did he just say TODD?  

As in a BOY?

Maybe he said Toddina?  Like a really terribly named girl?  Maybe?

Ohmahgah, SSG can't have a BOY MASSEUSE!  Did she shave her legs?  Can she smell her armpits real quick without anyone noticing?  What underwear did she have on?  OH THAT'S RIGHT YOU DON'T WEAR UNDERWEAR ON A MASSAGE TABLE!  Ohmahgah did she shave her ... (Deep breath in, deep breath out.)   Ok, I'm sure he's gay.  He MUST be gay.  PLEASE FOR ALL OF THE LOVE THAT IS HOLY LET HIM BE GAY.

Hot Masseur:  Hello, are you SSG?

SSG:  (Gulp) Nooomaybeeyeeees?

HM:  (Extends his hand.)  Nice to meet you.

SSG:  (Shakes his hand and mutters under breath.) Damn it.  So. Not. GAY!!!

HM:  (Walking toward the massage room.)  I'm sorry did you say something?

SSG:  Looking forward to this!  Yay!!!

And internets.  He was HOT.  Not cute.  But like ...

HOT.

Tall.  And big arms.  And pretty blue eyes.  And short dark hair.  With a nice ass.  Not that SSG noticed.  And of course he was all Zen.  But not, like let me wear turquoise jewelry that I bought in Taos and read your aura kind of Zen.  But like Bejamin Bratt kind of Zen.  Where he can bust out some hot yoga pose like he did on the Rosie O'Donnell show whenever that show was still on and he was still dating Julia Roberts which SSG OBVIOUSLY still remembers despite all of that being like SOOOO 5, 6, 7, 8 years ago.

BUT GAH!  So NOT who you want to be your masseur.  On a Friday night.  After a long week.  When your feet look cute IN a pair of BCBG slingbacks but who knows what they look like OUT of that same pair of slingbacks.  

And SSG is so decidedly NOT Zen.

Like, EVER.

And that's when SSG remembered her TOE!  Her poor little toe that is nicely healing with its toenail, that although black, is still firmly attached because SSG talks to it every night promising it pedicures and open toed shoes if it can just HANG ON and heal without falling off.

(Deep breath in.  Deep breath out.)

And SSG is sorry, she KNOWS he was just doing his job.  But when an attractive guy is asking you to lie down and if you like the pressure hard or soft IT TOOK EVERY OUNCE OF SSG'S NON EXISTENT MATURITY NOT TO GIGGLE.

But pretty soon warm stones were being placed all over SSG's tired shoulders and down her back.  And they felt like reassuring hands calming her down.  Which um, NEEDED to say the least.

An hour later, hovering somewhere between sleep and the feeling she gets after three or four lemon drops, SSG heard the calm voice "okay, it's time to roll over."

SCIENTISTS.  

Are you LISTENING?!  

SSG asks you, HOW can we get to the MOON but haven't yet figured out a way to build a massage table that can ROLL PEOPLE OVER?  

How can us, the massagees, be expected to:

1)  MOVE.

2)  Rollover GRACEFULLY, while naked no less (!), in front of hot masseur.

3)  Stay UNDER the sheet and ON the table that is essentially the same size as a balance beam?

SSG:  (Face firmly implanted into the head rest)  Seriousladioasdfjdlfsjy?

HM:  (Laughs) You can do it.

SSG:  But that's going to take some like, EFFORT.

HM:  (Laughs again) You'll only have to do it once, I promise.

SSG:  Okaaaaaaaaaaay.  (Hoping to distract him with some dialogue and wanting to preemptively apologize for the sight that is mah toe.) But you'll have to forgive my toe when you see it, I dropped something on it and it looks really bad.  

HM:  Don't worry.  I've seen every kind of bruise you can possibly imagine.

A few minutes later.

HM:  OH MY GOD!  WHAT DID YOU DO TO YOUR TOE?!

Just kidding. 

But wouldn't that have been funny?  

Actually no.  

That would not have been funny at all.

Instead he just ran his thumb gently over it while placing little tiny rocks in between my toes "you did get it good, didn't you."  

Which, come ON?!

HOW IS SSG NOT SUPPOSED TO LAUGH AT THAT GIVEN THE CIRCUMSTANCES?!?!?!

Oy vey.

So we both laughed.  But SSG is guessing NOT about the same thing.

A half hour later, as the massage ended, HM placed a cold stone on my forehead, ran his fingers through my hair and then left the room saying "take your time getting up."

And where SSG wanted to jump up, throw her clothes on and bolt out of the spa without ever seeing HM again, cooler heads prevailed.  Thanks in part to the chunk of ICE chilling on her forehead.

She took her time getting dressed, pulling her hair into a pony tail, popping a mint and gracefully walking out into the hallway where HM was waiting with a cup of water.  SSG looked him in the eye and said confidently (and maturely!) "thanks again."

"My pleasure, I'm glad you enjoyed it." He said with a smile.

And SSG MIGHT have giggled a little as she was walking to her car.  But that was only until she caught a glimpse of her face in the mirror.  

Her nice, relaxed eyes and slightly tousled ponytail were shadowed only by the deep, red imprint from the headrest still firmly implanted on her face.

And you guys wonder where the (sometimes!) comes from ...