My husband and I were recently talking about our 10 year wedding anniversary which is coming up this Friday, September 11th. I asked him to name his favorite moment of the wedding. He quickly answered “The shot table and the reception…”
(insert eyebrow lift from me)
“And of course saying I do,” he added.
(insert smile from me)
We’ve been together for 13 years. Most of the time it feels like we just met… other times it feels like a hundred years. Occasionally, we want to whack each other on the head with a frying pan. Thankfully, we’ve never actually done this.
We had a “frying pan” moment over the weekend thanks to a massage. It was just 50 minutes, but it felt like an excruciating 24 hours and a HUGE waste of our money. Money that I want to demand back, but I’m afraid it might get someone fired. So I probably won’t.
We were out-of-town and decided to treat ourselves with massages. The plan was simple. We would take turns at the spa while the other one watched the kids. I would go to the first appointment which was at 8 am. He would go at 9. They were 50 minutes each. I asked to leave a few minutes early, so he could make it to his treatment on time.
Best laid plans. Right?
I rolled out of bed and got to my appointment 15 to 20 minutes before my session. I told the therapist I needed to leave early. He said “fine.” Then he kept talking.
I’d like to point out that I LOVE massages. I’ll let almost anyone give me a massage as long as they knead me like a loaf of honey wheat bread. Nothing can deter me from getting a massage. (not even a life threatening MRSA staph infection which I got from a spa in Vegas)
I’ve paid a lot of money over the years for spa treatments and I’ve had my fair share of “AWESOME” and “FRIGHTENING.” But this is the first a massage has caused me to point my finger and yell at my husband in a hotel hallway. (Not my finest moment)
Consider some of my more disturbing massage moments. There was the massage student who rubbed my abs and asked me to call him sometime. Ewww. The nice Italian woman who rubbed my boobs with olive oil. Ickkk. A man in Greece who grabbed my ankles, pulled them over my head to my ears while straddling me. Wowza! Thank goodness I was wearing underwear. Or how about the therapist who ran out of the room only to return and announce that she had diarrhea. Ughh. None of this has EVER made me scream at one of the people I love most on earth.
I can handle too much oil, horrible music, chanting and a little weirdness. But I CANNOT handle a chatty Kathy who talks and talks and talks when I’m trying to relax.
This was unfortunately the case. The therapist told me about his daughter’s surgery, his life as a single parent, the three months he spent trying to pass a kidney stone and Amber, the therapist, who had a crush on the hotel’s personal trainer. Then he delved into my parent’s divorce, my arthritis, how often I pick up my kids, etc. He talked so much he forgot to massage half of my body. He got my back and left arm. The rest was left high and dry. Then the wind-bag ran past our time. That made my husband late for his massage.
He was mad, I yelled it wasn’t my fault in a crazy person way. Then we spent the three hour drive home in silence. (or as much as you can with two kids) Relaxation ruined.
Later when we got home he walked by, gave me a little pat and said I love you. The frying pan moment was over. 10 years of wedded bliss restored!
This takes me back to our conversation about our wedding day. I told him that although I did enjoy the “shot bar” at the reception my favorite moment was feeling so calm and certain about marrying him.
“I never had a doubt.”
Then without blinking he actually asked if I would book massages when we celebrate our anniversary later this week.
Now that’s love.