So one of my good friends offered to host a small cocktail party where we could share information, compare notes, and let’s be honest, complain about our kids. After inserting a drink into my hand , our lovely host told me that she had hired a masseuse friend of hers to provide free mini-massages to help relieve our stress.
“Oh that’s, fantastic!” I said, lying through my teeth.
In truth, just the idea of getting a massage made me even more stressed out and instantly uptight. I’m not sure why, but I’ve never enjoyed getting massages from strangers. I guess I just can’t relax, and any pleasure I feel is offset by my overwhelming angst.
As I mingled in the kitchen, I learned I was not alone. Many of the other moms shared my massage anxiety. Yet, one by one, the ladies added their name to the sign up sheet, because apparently a little personal discomfort was nothing compared to being a bad guest.
Still, I resisted. But after hearing about the expensive college visits my friends were taking their kids on, and about the early acceptance letters their kids had already received, I realized that this de-stress party was stressing me out and I needed a break. So I signed up for a massage.
Jill, the lovely masseuse, welcomed me to the table and offered to do a deep head massage or a pressure point Chakra thing. I figured her hands were tired from giving so many deep massages to so many stressed out women, so I opted for the pressure point thing. Besides, I had been feeling like my Chakra was a little out of whack lately. (What is a Chakra anyway?)
The masseuse had me lie down and told me to relax. Oh, if only it were that easy Jill.
I gave it my best shot. I breathed in the incense and focused on the grating strums of the sitar music, and tried hard to ignore a particularly loud guest’s alarming story about a kid who lost scholarship money because he “phoned-in” second semester and got all “B’s!” (Even though I couldn’t see this woman I was fairly confident she used air quotes to make her point.)
As the masseuse dug her thumbs into my body she explained the various pressure points and the areas of my mind they controlled. Amazingly, after she touched my scalp to heal my inner beauty, and my forehead to center my third eye, I began to do the unimaginable – I started to unwind.
But then as her hands moved farther south, my anxiety level grew. The point near my heart chakra was supposed to bring me inner peace, but because her hands were so close to my bra, it brought me an inner freak out instead.
My heart started beating a mile a minute. Then I became obsessed with worry that she would notice that my heart was beating a mile a minute so my heart beat faster still. I worried that she might get the wrong idea and assume that my heart was beating fast because I was secretly a lesbian and enjoying her touch in a different way than intended.
Her hands moved even lower, below my navel to focus my harmony and sexual desire. About that time I started enjoying having my Chakras re-aligned. So much so, that I thought, “Huh. What do ya’ know! Maybe I am a lesbian?”
I’ve always appreciated beautiful women. Maybe I just never gave it a chance?
But at this point in my life, wouldn’t it be more trouble that it was worth? First I’d have to break the news to my husband and he’d probably be a little put off. Likely my family and friends would overreact as they tend to do, and even worse, I’d have to create a new, come-hither look before searching for a suitable lesbian match.
About the time I was mulling this over, I happened to open my eyes, Jill was inches away from me, en route to another pressure point.
Okay, no. Turns out, I’m not a lesbian.
But what I was – was sleepy. If only I could pull up some covers . . . but no, the loud guest was at it again, with another horror story to tell.
“I heard that her daughter had a 4.9 and perfect SAT’s but forgot to confirm that her letters of rec. ever got there. So she didn’t get admitted! Can you imagine anyone being so careless?”
Oh crap. Yes! I could easily imagine such a thing!
My Chakra immediately tightened – at least I think it was my Chakra. I shot upright on the table, thanked Jill, and prayed she didn’t see the embarrassing drool I wiped from my chin.
After rushing back home, and hearing my daughter say, “Of course I confirmed that they got them. Do you think I’m an idiot?” I was finally, really, able to relax.
Only then did I want to hear, “How about a massage?” Yet, no one asked.