Happy Bao-entine's Day

Valentine's was superb this year. I truly have the best husband. Drew spoiled his lady with a few of her favorite things. Namely, dinner out at one of our favorite restaurants:
Afterward, we made our way over to the mall where we shared a romantic ice cream and he took me shoe shopping. Seriously? Yes. But what's more was his fabulous Valentine's present: a one-hour massage here. How very thoughtful. I've frequented this establishment on occasion, but none compared to my experience yesterday. Bless his heart, he scheduled a Deep Tissue massage (which I've never had, the name alone scares me) with a man (he knows I prefer them... they're just stronger). When I got there I clarified and said that I'd just go with a firm Swedish massage (total body relaxation).

I step into the waiting area and am handed cup after cup of water to get me relaxed. After being introduced to my new friend Bao, the Chinese masseuse, we step into the dimly lit room where introductions are made.

4 minutes into the massage, I'm face down and Bao tells me I have more lactic acid buildup in my back and shoulders than anyone he's seen in a long time (he's about 23) and that instead of a Swedish, he WILL, in fact, be doing deep tissue... I'm assured I'll thank him later.

Over the next hour, phrases such as the following leave Bao's loose lips:

• "Wow, it's like you're chalk full of acid"
• "Yikes"
• "Oh my gosh, you've got so much lactic acid EVERYWHERE"
• "The acid comes from not getting enough sleep and being sick."
• "Geez, you must have been REALLY sick!" (Is he talking "Cancer really sick", or "24-hour-bug really sick" ?)
• "Don't worry, this is supposed to hurt."
• "Why are you laughing? It tickles? I told you it was supposed to hurt."
• "Tomorrow you're going to wake up with black and blue spots in the places I'm rubbing. Don't be alarmed, it's blood pooling under the skin."
• "You are definitely going to thank me for this."
• "Next time you come in it will feel like I'm pouring lemon juice on you instead of battery acid" (Note: actual quote, no embellishment)

Meanwhile, although it does for the majority feel somewhat relaxing, I'm mumbling, "Bao, do you WANT to get tipped? Because as we speak, I'm stuffing dollar bills back into my purse."
Needless to say, Bao finishes up and hands me a slip of paper, recommending me a regimented schedule of a twice-per-month visit to him, the Master Masseuse. I assure him that indeed, once my husband stops working for the government, I will seriously consider it. For I would just be plain silly to pass up a running commentary every time I was treated to a massage.



It almost rivals the Great San Francisco Massage Scandal of '03.

Quick recap: Jenn and I are visiting San Fran for a week. Her uncle treats us to our very first massages. We venture into a shady little shop in Hayward run by some barely-english-speaking Chinese women. We are told to make our way to separate rooms and take off however much we feel comfortable with. Being first-timers and now alone, Jenn leaves on just about everything while I take off absolutely everything. I lay down on the bed, not knowing what the sheet is for, therefore, not using it. My masseuse comes in and starts the massage; it feels great. Very relaxing.

Chinese woman, "You married?"
Me: "Yes."
Chinese woman, "Your husband very lucky man."
Me: "Thank you; I think so."

Before I know it, the woman has climbed up onto the table (sans sheet covering) and has positioned herself so that she's kneeling on my rear end. As she holds onto my shoulders, she begins to kick her feet onto the back of my thighs vigorously. I'm speechless. Never having had a massage before, I'm confused, but rolling with the punches.
At the end of the session, Jenn is dressed (it took her no time at all), and has come into my room to meet up. We pay, tip, and make our way out the door and down the stairwell.

Me: "What'd you think about the part where they got up on you and slapped your legs?"
Jenn: "When they WHAT?"

Cue hysterical, nervous laughing.

THE END