When it comes to professional massages, I can't seem to justify the dollar to enjoyment ratio. But a terrible crick in my neck, again, had my head, neck and torso feel as though they had been carved from a solid block of wood, totem-pole style. (I say again because the last time this happened was also around Thanksgiving. Nothing quite like a stiff neck when you need to lift a 20lbs turkey in and out of an oven.)
Yesterday, the spasm had traveled merrily up my spine and turned into the mother of all tension headaches. My face too looked wooden now;my mouth deformed into a rictus of pain and anguish. Out of sheer desperation, I went to see a masseuse. Usually the hubby gives me massages, he who can trigger tension headaches with as much effortless ease as he can lift them away. But he is out of town so what's a totem-pole woman to do?
A friend had told me about this great masseuse. I traveled, not very far, and ended up at what she called her shop, a word better suited to car repairs or Santa's toy building operation. A spa this was not, God, no. The building was seedy, isolated, scary and I was tempted to turn back, but I trust my friend, so I knocked. The door opened and i was promptly scolded for not ringing the bell hard enough by the masseuse, a squat, barefoot, unsmiling, woman. She was a bit brusque, her hair uncombed. She somehow made me think of a female, blonde, version of Hagrid . Now I really wanted to turn back, but a part of me, probably the part carved out of timber, told me to stay.
Once in her room, which was warm and dark as a a nest, I was told to take everything off. What the.. what?..Everything? Everything she said with authority. I'm a prude, but apparently less of a prude than I am a coward, since I did as I was told. Maybe this was normal. And if it was not, since I had told no one where i was, I might soon be found floating down the Los Angeles river, in separate pieces, wrapped in plastic. Even as i stepped onto the table I was tempted to gather my clothes and run back naked to my car screaming FIRE IN THE HOLE!
But no. From her very first touch I knew I would be safe. I knew she was going to take exceptional care of my poor aching body. I transmogrified from totem pole to oiled silly putty as a fast as you can say 'expelliarmus'. She was strong and gentle, insistent and knowledgeable. The woman may be right out of Hogwarts, but she was not from the dark side.
If you're in the Los Angeles area and need a really gifted masseuse, sent me an email and I'll give your her number. Just don't tell her i called her squat. I meant it in the best possible way, from a squat person to another.
