I was in need of some T.L.C. Something a little more special than my normal mani/pedi/eyebrow/ten minutes ten dollars at Beach Nails. With a little time to myself, I figured I would hit up one of the 87 foot spas that have popped up within a 5 mile perimeter during the last year. Then, I would head to the gym and do a little bit of time on the spin bike with my newly downloaded beats on my iPod (which I am pretty sure is considered to be nearly extinct by now).
After hearing that Noble Foot Spa was good, I went there. There was somewhat of a crowd hovering near the cash register, which to me, was indicative of a good omen. I requested a 20 minute foot massage and 20 minute back massage, which, I was told, would cost 43 bucks. Okay, I thought…I deserve it. So what if this will cost more than the 28 dollar, hour long foot spa WITH 20 percent off? Too bad I didn’t know then what I know now….
During the summer of 2010, I went to a foot spa up the road from where I work. My colleagues and I thought it to appear as a creepy operation, but once I was inside, it seemed on the up and up to me. The experience was awesome. I fell into a twilight-like sleep during the foot massage. Then, this magical chair folded down and I turned onto my stomach, only to receive a back massage that once again induced sleep. Keep in mind, I was about 7-8 weeks pregnant, so I was often carrying on like a narcoleptic as soon as I got the chance to take a seat, but I am pretty sure it all felt good. Time has not allowed me to return to said foot spa, but it is still in business; a good sign during these tumultuous and just plain scary economic times. Needless to say, I was anticipating another great experience.
So, my foot spa “technician” got down to business and all was good. He even rubbed this spot located on the knee that feel amazing, but only when an Asian man tending specifically to your lower limbs is rubbing it. Lying in a dimly lit room with no watch on, I calculated that my back rub was soon to start. I was waiting for my F.S.T. (foot spa technician) to get up, lower my big, comfy chair and ask me to turn over, but instead he instructed me to walk to a back room. I had been wondering where the other patrons were headed….
We get into the makeshift massage room, similar to one I had been to at the Russian and Turkish Bath House in NYC (http://www.russianturkishbaths.com/enter.html), but with a lot less light.
F.S.T: You know what to do now?
Me: Ummm..well…I have gotten massages before, but not here.
F.S.T: You take off top, and pants, and clothes. There’s towel. Cover yourself. Call me when you are ready.
Me: Okay.
Hmmmm----I didn’t want a special room massage. Hmmmmm—I am not one to take it all off for a massage. I like a little coverage on my lady bits. Of course, I wasn’t wearing any underwear since I was planning to coach myself through a spin routine and underwear are just a pain in the ass while riding a bike..no pun intended…totally the truth. As a matter of fact, I was just reading in Self magazine that doctors deem it completely ok to exercise sans underwear provided one has some sort of material between their you know what and the exercise equipment. But I digress…I figured that this would not be a big deal, as I would be covered by a towel. The troubling part of this was I am used to a sheet that grants generous coverage, not a bath towel that at this point looked to me like a hand towel hung out on the rack for when company comes over. What to do?
I got undressed, laid down on the table, covered myself and choked out the word “Okay.” My F.S.T. came in and started to massage my back. Ahhh—Awesome. Nothing to worry about. You know the scene in a movie (think Patrick Dempsey in “Can’t Buy Me Love” when his spot gets blown up) when everyone is dancing and the music comes to a screeching halt because someone’s parents have just walked into a kegger or because Cindy Mancini has just told the cool kids at her school that Ronald Miller bought his ticket to popularity for a mere thousand bucks? Well, I had my own version of that, only it was just me and some guy and my naked body on a massage table in Oceanside wearing a draped towel basically covering my shoulder blades.
Thoughts in My Head: OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! My ass is out!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Wait—you had a baby. 87 people have seen your junk. You got an internal with you father in the room. This is the F.S.T’s job!!!
F.S.T: Rubbing my legs. Now going up my legs. Now spreading my legs apart, as my inner thighs do kiss a bit (I JUST HAD A BABY). Feel fingers dancing around my crack.
Thoughts in My Head: HOLY SHIT!!!! Is “back massage” new code for happy ending in my butthole???
F.S.T: Rubbing my VERY upper thigh near butt. Rubbing my BIG, FAT, NAKED BUTT CHEEKS with fingers once again dancing around my crack AND hole!!!!
Thoughts in My Head: I wish I could call someone right now. This is one of the funniest things that has ever happened to me. Why am I laughing about this? Is this the part when people ask for a happy ending??? Are people getting them right now??? The man I saw walk out from back here while I was getting my feet rubbed looked like he had a little spring in his step…WHY DIDN’T I JUST GET TEN MINUTES , TEN DOLLARS????
F.S.T: Karate chopping my legs and ass. “Okay…you get dressed.”
So I get up and notice that now I need another freaking massage because I got so tense from thinking about the possible violation that was about to take place all because I tried to mix up my T.L.C. time. If you are curious, as my friend Steph was, no, I was not aroused. I was freaking out!!! This was not what I was looking for. AND, I found out that the hour long (I had limited time to fit this and the gym in before I had to grab the baby from my parents) foot spa included the massage on the chair, with clothes on, in front of other people, exactly as I had remembered and assumed it was going to be like. So,
now you all know I don’t wear underwear when I spin and that unless you want a HOLE lot more at a foot spa, inquire further as to what a back massage entails!!!!
