- Gift certificate to a nice restaurant? Not so much. You never go anywhere and even if you were able to treat yourself to a night out at a nice restaurant they would probably turn you away at the door because of their no sneakers and no sweatpants policy.
- Gift certificate to a nail salon? Unless it's a plastic surgeon that applies nail polish AFTER completing two full hand transplants this one really doesn't do much either because getting a manicure during this stage in your life is like putting lipstick on a pig. A nice manicure also draws attention to the fact that you don't wear your wedding rings anymore and there are already enough people at the park that assume you are too old to be an unwed mother so you must be a recent divorce whose marriage didn't survive the first year of having a child.
- Make-up, lotion, earrings. These are all extremely nice gestures but they end up in a baby proofed part of the house after one of your kids squirts the sweet smelling and super expensive lotion all over the rug in your room anyway. Or you put on the MAC mascara and lipstick just to find that your simply gorgeous lips and "come hither" lashes look ridiculous with your ratty old armpit stained gap T-shirt and maternity jeans that you are wearing even though you aren't pregnant anymore. With make-up on, you actually look like you did the walk-of-shame -- which we all know, sadly, is just not possible. R.I.P walk of shame, R.I.P.
- A card with $50 bucks in it that says -- "Here, the next two co-pays at your therapy appointments are on me! Enjoy!"
- Gourmet frozen dinners -- family size
- House cleaner for a day
- Monthly case of wine delivered to your house
- Gift certificate for a massage
I am blessed to have the most amazing and supportive friends on the planet. Big time. One of my dearest and closest friends from childhood sent me an email that she had purchased TWO prenatal massages for me while I'm here in St. George. TWO. I mean seriously? Tears. While a full shoulder and back replacement would have been super nice too -- getting to have two freakin massages while I'm out here honestly feels the same to me right now as if Ellen Degeneres decided to gift me a minivan on her show. Totally amazing, thoughtful and perfect gift -- given to me for NO REASON other than my friend is like the nicest, most compassionate and caring person you will even meet. She also happens to be a massage therapist herself - so she knows how important massage is in my life right now. She gets it.
So I go to said massage and it's a male therapist. Okay. So I'm one of those people who always requests a female therapist -- if I'm even lucky enough to get a massage in the first place -- but you know beggars can't be choosers, and this guy owns the place, he's like 100 years old, so it's not like Bradley Cooper is going to be giving me these massages (a girl can dream), my girlfriend talked to him at length and I don't even know if he has other therapists that he works with -- so two massages with a male therapist. Totally fine.
First one goes great. He realizes that the current physical state I'm in pretty much resembles someone that has been in recent multiple car crashes. Some of my muscles would be better played like guitar strings than massaged....you get the picture. Let's just say he has his work cut out for him. But I don't care. I need this so f'ing bad that I basically just tell him -- listen buddy -- I got some serious shit going on with my body. Specifically my entire left side where two 30lb children sit on my hip pretty much all day long day, after, day, after day. Not to mention the repetitive action of picking them up, putting them down, lifting them both awkwardly into carseats, and then doing bench presses with my double stroller in the back of my jeep during my "down time" of not lifting them. See why I called it a daily Iron Man race? I should probably shave all the hair off my body and wear a sports bathing suit everyday -- just to see if it brings my race time down and makes it so that I have more time to myself at the end of the day. Replace this bike with a double stroller and I think you see what I'm getting at:
Unfortunately, people don't cheer from the sidelines as you bust your ass just to get through each and every day -- which honestly come to think of it -- would be super nice and probably help quite a bit.
So, by the second massage my buddy Michael knew exactly what needed to be done and so we got right to it and had him work on my shoulder which I totally appreciated and thought -- this whole thing is just awesome. This gift from my girlfriend is awesome, this guy is totally focusing on my problem areas -- I am in heaven. I actually feel like I might survive this time in my life if I could just get massages like this every once and while to counter act the permanent damage I know I'm doing to my body. I'm away from the kids for this totally blissful hour....let's just say I'm feeling pretty good.
Now, you have to remember, I'm pregnant. When you're pregnant you have to do sideline massage -- where you lie on your side instead of your back or stomach. As a massage therapist, you definitely have to know what you're doing to perform a massage like this because having the person lying on their side kind of fucks everything up a little bit. Well, I can't afford to have that happen. I NEED THIS MASSAGE BAD. So, Michael explained to me the best way to do this would mean I would have to hold the sheets a certain way -- you know to cover my lady bits -- so that he could give me an excellent massage and not a half-ass one.
Well...let's just say, I totally understood what I needed to do, I knew how and where to hold the sheets, this wasn't exactly my maiden voyage in getting a massage -- or a sideline massage at that -- so I totally knew what I needed to be doing to keep myself covered up. I was sure as hell not going to let a stupid ass sheet get in the way of making sure this guy pulverized my muscles in a way that I could finally feel some goddamn relief from my aching body.
Well as it turns out -- I didn't let the sheet get in the way. No siree. You can probably see where this is going, but I did get a little distracted with directing him and making sure he knew EXACTLY where on my shoulder I needed him to put all his focus and energy -- and I mean I all but asked him to dislocate my shoulder and just toss it in the trash it was hurting me so bad -- so I got a little too shoulder focused and not enough sheet focused.
This all happened in like three seconds, but right in the middle of everything he asked me to shift my weight and turn over. He, of course, being the professional here, had the sheets all figured out and put in such a way that I could do this maneuver without him ever seeing me at all. That is -- as long as I held up my end of the bargain and held the sheet in a certain way that would prevent anything from happening. This is where I totally dropped the ball.
I turned over and within a nanosecond -- the sheet is totally gone. Just like a magic trick, poof! I'm lying there totally naked with nothing between me and my buddy Mike (I figure this nude scene means we've reached a level in our relationship where I can call him Mike now) and he all but had a heart attack right there in the room, grabbing at anything he could find to cover me up because I had rolled over in a such a way that the sheets were all fucked up and tucked underneath me.
Ten maybe fifteen years ago I would have panicked and been super embarrassed...but after two kids and one on the way...It's going take a lot more than a 65 year old massage therapist to make me blush about my completely banged up, smashed up, and let's face it -- knocked up body. I mean seriously, what the hell do I have to prove or be bashful about. He on the other hand was either having some sort of a mild stroke because of his age or was thinking lawsuit -- I don't know -- but I honestly can say I was more worried about him and his reaction then my own nakedness. (Now that I'm writing this and looking back at this whole debacle -- maybe my naked body really IS that bad, and I almost did cause a stroke at the sight of it...hmmm.....I'll have to think about that one later).
Once there were sheets even half hazardly covering me up again I told him I was SO sorry that it was totally my fault, I was completely not holding my side of the sheet when he asked me to turn over...blah, blah, blah....until I could tell his breathing started to regulate again and he was assured I wasn't filing a lawsuit.
Anyway, needless-to-say, we awkwardly finished up the massage after the Full Monty exposure, lights had to be turned on at the end where we said goodbye and shook hands (so weird) and then I told him I would be happy to write a review online about how great the massage was (you know, just so there are no hard feelings, we're cool, kind of thing).
He said, "Bonny, I would really appreciate that, thank you." Obviously, I wasn't about to correct him. So we can just let this story be about the naked pregnant lady from Boston named Bonny who managed a full frontal around half way through a sideline massage and let bygones be bygones.
I'll just have to remember to write the review under the name Bonny :)
This was absolutely hysterical!! I don't remember being asked to do sheet duty at any prenatal massages so I think you can put the responsibility squarely on his shoulders.
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