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Saturday, December 25, 2004

Why can't Santa give massages?

Three weeks of shopping, two hours of wrapping, one last minute trip to the only store open on Christmas Eve at 11 pm (Thank you Wal-greens!) and now all I want is a deep tissue massage.

Don't knock it until you have a heavy handed amazon woman knead the trigger points, aches, and fatigue out of your body. If a large woman scares you, there are plenty of muscular or thin men that can rub the worry and stress of this holiday away for a mere $50 an hour. Considering what dinner and a movie costs, that's pretty cheap.

My first massage was at a Hot Springs famous bathhouse. The masseur, a 500 pound black woman, told me to take off my clothes and come lay down on her table. Shirt, shorts, bra, panties off - but not my socks. You see, I have ugly feet. Not hammer toes or bunions, just ugly feet to the point that my husband didn't see my feet until our 3 month anniversary. Yep, socks with the lingerie even on the honeymoon. And no sandals or flip flops. Sick, isn't it? I'm over it now, but it took childbirth twice and intensive ribbing by my friends to do it.

Anyway, when I finally crawled onto her table, the woman laughed so loud even the women in the sauna heard her.

"I've had women leave their shirts or drawers on, but I ain't never seen nobody leave jus' their socks on!" She slapped on me, rubbed my shoulders for twenty seconds, and then it was over. Thank goodness I left my socks on for that waste of time. Since then, I've had some fabulous massages including a full foot rub that made me purr like a kitten.

What does this have to do with Christmas? I believe every mother, woman, aunt, sister, and grandmother deserves a good full body massage. From a professional. For free.
And not from a fat man wearing a red velvet suit.


2 Comments:

  • I once had a 500-pound black woman tell me to take off my clothes. It was an entirely different situation, but no less fraught with peril.

    By Blogger Phil, at 11:08 AM  

  • All right Phil - don't tell me you were a concubine at one time....or towel boy at the YWCA.

    By Blogger Tisha from Texas, at 5:06 PM  

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