Father's Day Gift: An Uncomfortable Situation
June 21, 2010, By Craig J. Heimbuch 4 comments
I should have known that something was up, should have seen something like this coming. My wife had been cryptic all weekend, telling me she had a surprise and that we had to be sure to be home by 4 pm so I could get my Father's Day present. I half-expected baseball tickets or a trip to the barber- I could use one of those - or, even, some sort of dad party/man-date. But as the day went on, she kept making little references and dropping little hints. Eventually, I came out and asked her what it was.
"Well, I should tell you," she said. " Since you'll need to know where you're going... You're getting a deep tissue massage."
I should point out that I'm not, generally, all that comfortable with being touched. My pasty pate is better left untouched and unseen, as far as I'm concerned. I'm not even all that comfortable hugging cousins at a family reunion, let alone stripping down for a perfect stranger and allowing them to handle me like a side of beef. But I appreciated the sentiment and, truth be told, I have been more than a little stressed lately. So why not? Right? Why not take the kindness my wife thought to bestow upon me? I should be able to suck it up and suck it in. Besides, chances are pretty good that the masseuse will be an attractive blonde and, well, we've all seen that movie.
So I went. I filled out the paperwork and waited patiently in the lobby, nervous but ready to hear my name called by Helga or Ingrid or whatever her name must be. But I didn't hear that. No, I didn't hear that at all. What I heard, rather incongruously, was a soft, deep, somewhat timid man call from around the corner. "Craig?," he asked. "Right this way."
This immediately, if apologetically, changed things. Dennis - that's what I'll call him - was not a leggy Swede with an inability to wear clothes of appropriate size. Rather, he was a short, pasty Greek-looking man in clothes meant for a suburban gangster, thinning wispy black hair, a chin-strap mustache and, to top it all off, a lazy eye. I had to remove my glasses in order that I might focus on the bridge of his nose rather than shifting back and forth from eye to eye.
He led me into a small room with a table, soft music, a chair in the corner and dim lighting, instructed me to strip "to my comfort level." Given the situation, my comfort level was a turtleneck and snow boots, but I didn't have those, so I got down to my boxers and situated myself on the table, under the blankets. "Dennis" came in and immediately asked me about my 'goals' - survival was one, time travel was another, but we decided to concentrate on my neck, back and shoulders. I have to admit, the first half-hour was nerve-wracking. It was not homophobia, it was a complete and utter fear of being touched, especially by someone stronger than I am. He had me relaxed in the neck and shoulders then told me to roll over so he could start on my back.
Now, I'm a big man and I tend to over-carry. I don't sleep well and I have abs of mustard, so my back is a place that hurts quite a bit some times. Dennis wasn't helping when he went at me with titanium elbows and an apparent ax to grind. The pain was unbearable - breathtaking quite literally - but Dennis in his smooth, suburban gangster voice assured me everything would be alright. And just as I thought he was going to punch his elbow right through my abdomen, he told me how he had been training to become a mixed martial arts fighter for the last three years. Great, I thought, I'm going to die.
I didn't die and, honestly, when I got up from the table I had a sensation of being a little tipsy. Dennis showed me to the door and told me not to wait so long to have another massage. I thanked him, tipped him and went home. When I got there, my wife asked me how it was. She had that look of expectancy on her face. I wanted to tell her how creepy it was. I wanted to tell her it hurt, really badly. I wanted to tell her that I thought I had broken my pelvis. Instead, I told her I enjoyed and thanked her very much for my Father's Day gift.
It is, after all, the thought that counts.
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