This afternoon we went to the in-laws for some sort of celebration. Someone turned 3 or 38 or something, I don’t know. It was a very pleasant afternoon and The Woman decided to take a dip in the pool with her niece and nephew. Having a healthy distrust of the effects of water gulped in large quantities and shunted down the wrong pipe, I opted to observe from the dry land. Of course, this means that you must get involved in playtime with the kiddies in far more obtuse ways.
So when the little boy decided that I was a monster trying to reach him from the side of the pool, I found myself slowly walking around making him squeal with delight as he quickly splashed away in the opposite direction. But that wasn’t enough – at least not for me. Soon I started ducking out of view (oh, wait, did I mention that this was an above ground pool?) and popping up in a different spot to catch him off guard. Great idea, until you find yourself bent over awkwardly and sprinting in circles in way not intended by the design of our bodies.
Eventually, being the 30 year-old man that I am, I tired and decided to take a break. And as I trotted off for a beer my thighs let me know just how much wrong I had done them. Suddenly my legs felt as those steel bars half an inch shorter than they should be had replaced my muscles. This must be what happens to your body when you don’t exercise – who knew?
I spent the rest of the day stumbling around and avoiding steps when necessary. Boy, did I need a massage. And then it dawned on me: didn’t I marry a massage therapist? After a little fact-finding I confirmed that she was, in deed, a massage therapist – which explained that padded table taking up the middle of the office and all of the creams and oils around it. That sure hit the spot.
The Woman always asks me if her massages feel good, but I have to admit that by the time I actually get her to work on me, I am in such pain that any amount of pressure is going to hurt; but it sure feels great after the fact. Relaxation massages are fantastic, and I believe everybody should get them, I just don’t want to take advantage of our marital bond too much. Although it is the ultimate way to get my body to just shut up and collapse.
There is however the other effect of getting such a massage. Your entire body relaxes and certain human function can arise at an inopportune moment to cause a very embarrassing situation. I refer, of course, to the digestive processes that release rather unpleasant odors with often humorous sounds accompanying them. In other words, DO NOT EAT A MISSION BURRITO BEFORE A MASSAGE. Otherwise, you can expect to not relax one iota as you spend the entire 50 minutes concentrating on clenching your ass cheeks as tightly as possible and the potential damage that might be caused if you fail.
Thankfully, our relationship has moved well beyond that stage. Actually, with our combined digestive problems, you could even say we’ve learned to embrace the next stage. But that’s an entirely different way to relax…
This has all the makings of a “Dear Penthouse” letter, except that instead of erotic it’s rather disturbing. And by “rather” I mean this is nightmare juice of the highest order. No offense.