Just about a year ago, for Druck's birthday, I got him a gift certificate for a one-hour massage at Utopia Salon in Northville. The reason for this is long and drawn out but, in a nutshell: Druck gives a talk in Thailand. The Thai people give many gifts. One is a Thai massage. He said it felt great. So, for his birthday last year, I got him a deep tissue massage. He tells me he doesn't want strangers touching him. I remind him of how much he liked the Thai massage. He says that he couldn't say no when they were handing him the robe.
So, almost an entire year goes by and I am stressed to the max with children, grandchild, eccentric husband, five cats and my orchids are acting up. I tell Druck that if he isn't going to use this gift card, it's going to expire. He says he doesn't want it. I say, "Then I'll use it." Of course, I have never had a massage - ever - except when I have beaten Druck at a board game (winner takes all) and he, the reluctant loser, gives me a 30 minute backrub.
I am not particularly comfortable with anyone other than Druck running his/her hands over me. But it cost me $95.00 and so, I make the reservation and arrive at the doorstep of Utopia where Trepidation greets me in her slinky white slip, arm outstretched against the door jamb, an eyebrow arched and a menthol cigarette dangling from her mouth. I duck the emotion and enter, exhaling deeply, refusing to look back at the wraith snickering behind me. I tell myself it's ok to have a stranger place his or her hands all over my naked body, all in the name of relaxation. I give the receptionist my name and am led back to a lovely area by Jody. As we enter the changing room, I blurt out, "This is my first time," like a virgin being led to the sacrificial altar. "Your first massage ever?" "Yes, ever," I emphasize. "Don't worry. I won't do anything that is uncomfortable for you. Just let me know if something bothers you." She explains a bit more about the differences between deep tissue massage and Swedish massage and tells me to don this gorgeous robe and slippers and meet her back in the "consultation room."
Hurriedly, I strip, throw my clothes into the little locker and, last minute, decide to leave my panties on. I wrap my temporary robe around me and step into the slippers as tinkly clinky music plays in the background. Opening the door and looking carefully to and fro, I flip flop down the hall to the "consultation room" and take a seat. "How lovely," I muse, as I look at the plethora of lit candles and the brown and turquoise hues that overtake the room. Finally, Jody reappears and takes me to the massage room. It is prettier than my own bedroom, and she instructs me to climb onto the table and relax. No small feat for a neurotic mother of two, grandmother of one, wife of an ofttimes seemingly mad scientist, mother of five male neutered cats who don't always get along, and oh, those orchids... Eventually, however, Jody puts me at ease and we begin talking about our families, yoga, religion, good health and joy. That is, until, I say, "I just want to warn you that my feet are a bit rough because I like walking around in my bare feet on the patio, tending to my garden." She moves down the table and says, "Oh, you have beautiful feet! They are fine." She then adds, "And your body is perfect! No cellulite whatsoever. How old are you again?" "48," I croak weakly, blushing 1400 shades of red, realizing that someone is not only running her hands all over my body, but looking too.
When the massage is over, I tip her well (mostly for the comment about my perfect body). As I leave the salon, Trepidation is replaced by her cohort Self-Esteem as she saunters with me to the door, smiles and asks in her Mae West lilt, "Will you be back again?" Probably not. But if you ever go to Utopia, tell them Liam's Grandma sent you.
Copyright 2008 liamsgrandma
