My random thoughts while getting massaged by a stranger

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I mentioned yesterday that I’d stuffed my neck and was struggling big time. On Saturday, I thought a massage would help but driving wasn’t much of an option as I couldn’t turn my neck in either direction.

I could get someone to come to me!?!?!

I found someone local and conducted an FBI worthy Google search to check that A) they weren’t dodgy, B) they weren’t serial killers and C) it was a normal massage (no happy endings if you know what I mean….). This particular guy passed my tests and I arranged for him to come over in the afternoon.

I was all kinds of weary about having a strange guy come to my house and get touchy feely. But when you can’t move and you’re in pain, sometimes you do what you’ve got to do.

He arrived and was a lovely guy. He looked young but my covert intelligence gathering had verified he’d been in business for sometime (yes I realise not everything on Google is factual and if he was a serial killer he probably wouldn’t feature that on the About section of his Facebook page). Anyway, he got his table sorted and politely turned away while I gingerly took my top off and got comfy.

Now, usually a massage is a relaxing experience. You can drift off as the masseuse eases away your tightness and worries. Normally this is the case with me except this time, perhaps because there was a stranger in my house, my mind would not shut the hell up. Here’s a little insight into the way my mind works:

Ok stranger man, do your thing and don’t be chatty. This is already weird enough.
These towels are crunchy.
Shit! I should have checked for side-boob. I sincerely hope the fun bags aren’t draping out the sides.
I wonder if I have major bra strap marks.
I need new bras.
I hope my Google searches were right and this guy’s not a serial killer.
I need to buy cereal.
I don’t want to go to the shops!

He must be hungry, I can hear his stomach growling.
I’m going to have to go to the shops. I’m running out of my muesli and Hayden’s gluten free shite tastes like balls.
Geeze Louise, that’s a bit hard. Tell him to go lighter. Tell him. Tell him now. This is just like when I go a random crappy hairdressers and they’re botching your hair and you’re screaming “STOP” in your head but say nothing. Tell him to go lighter you idiot, this is hurting! 

Ok, good for you, you told him. That’s much better.
What else do I need from Woolies?
Why is he only using one hand? Where is his other hand?????
Oh there it is. Calm down moron.
He needs to eat something, his stomach is loud. 
Bread! I need to get bread too.
I really want to ask him if he’s had awkward encounters with people thinking they’ll get a little extra with their massage.
Don’t ask him, he might think you’re suggesting something.
Say nothing. 
I wonder how the boys are.
It’s their fault I feel so crappy. I secretly hope they kept everyone awake with their coughing.
Ooohhh I need eggs too. I should really write this down. 
Does he have the massage oil in a bum bag or something? I can hear him getting more but he isn’t leaning anywhere. That’s a bit fancy. 
I wonder what he thinks about when he’s giving people massages? 
Who still uses bum bags?!
Where has his hand gone now???
It’s back, we’re all good. Don’t be gross Kate.
I bet even if I wrote a shopping list I’d forget it. You do that every time.
I need to pee. 
I really hope there’s no side-boob happening.
He’s standing at my head. This is the closest my head has been to a guy’s nether regions in years!
Way to make it weirder.

He better stop putting so much pressure there, I need to do a pop off.
Pop off! You’re such a mum. Fart is a gross word though.
So is moist. I hate that word.

Imagine if my neighbours could see through my window right now. 
They’d see side-boob, I’m sure of it.
I wonder if there’s a pressure point for your butt?

{right in the middle of the massage, the guy needs to use the toilet}

I really hope his growling tummy was not an indication of what he’s about to do in there. 
Tummy?! Seriously, pop off and tummy. Such mum words. 
Nope, he’s peeing.
Christ those walls are thin!

He’s back. At least I know he washed his hands, stupid thin walls.
I’m going to buy a sneaky bag of peanut M&M’s too. I love being a grown up sometimes, buying what I want at the shops. 

Needless to say, this went on for the entire duration of the massage. Not very relaxing but I did feel a little better afterwards.

Does your mind run at a million miles a minute? How do you switch off?

K xx

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