Monday, March 12, 2007

Knots


This morning, my shoulders felt as though they'd been pummeled repeatedly with a large mallet. When I put on my socks, I discovered small bruises on my calves, and my jaw was tender to the touch. Yesterday, I got a massage from a tiny Asian woman with fingers of steel.

The massage therapist I met several weeks ago, the one who worked absolute miracles with my insanely knotty muscles, wasn't available when I called to schedule an appointment last week. Not only unavailable, she was away from the spa "indefinitely." This did not surprise me. Rather, it confirmed my suspicion that both my husband and I are cursed.

Before I relate the particulars of our curse, I'd like to tell you that I have a testimony of massage therapy. I have spent many years and vast sums of money building that testimony, and lo, it is strong and unshakeable, like unto my knotty muscles. The little day spa I discovered a few miles away may have a cheap knock-off of Boticelli's Birth of Venus hanging in the lobby (complete with brush strokes - do you think it could be the real thing??), but the prices are reasonable, and the rooms are clean and serene. I've never had a bad massage there, but I've never found a therapist who totally knew what to do with the mess my knee surgery left behind. Until a few weeks ago, when I found my miracle therapist. My miracle therapist who promptly disappeared "indefinitely."

It's all part of the curse that started with my husband's hair last year. You see, Steve had been getting haircuts from the same stylist for several years, but when she moved to a salon 20 minutes away and raised her prices, he decided to be shorn elsewhere. His first trip to Supercuts seemed a success at first, but as the haircut grew out it became apparent that I was married to my very own Chia Pet. Then his brother gave him a hot tip on a specific Supercuts stylist. His name was Wee (it really was!), and he was a very short Vietnamese man with the loud, braying laugh and the meanest pair of scissors in the West. Wee was delightful, Steve was delighted, and my Chia pet departed. And then Wee just . . . disappeared. One day he was sculpting hair into works of art, and the next day - poof. No more Wee. And no one knew whither Wee went. So, Steve, despondent and decidedly shaggy, was forced to try his luck with a different stylist. And his next choice, Kwok, though a nice enough fellow, was definitely no Wee.

And so, last week, when I was told my perfect massage therapist had disappeared, I wasn't surprised. I knew that it was bound to happen to me, too. I knew I had to pick myself up and move on, just as my husband did when his hair became too poofy to be ignored. There was no weeping for Wee, and there would be no weeping for me. So I called the tacky-art day spa and booked an appointment with a tiny and preternaturally strong Japanese woman. And, as she pummeled me into a gumby-like state while her CD player softly played what can only be described as Asian Reggae, I wondered if I'd ever see my miracle massage therapist again.

I'll let you know if she turns up, but in the meantime, keep an eye out for Wee, would you?

6 comments:

Blondie said...

I thought the point of you going to a massage therapist was to relieve your muscle knots, not further turn you into a pretzel. Perhaps you should give my "deep breather" a chance.

AzĂșcar said...

I have the same effect on hairstylists: those fickle, transient creatures.

Eurycleia said...

Any idea on why he was called Wee? I mean, is that his given name, or just a nickname? (Well, he is Asian and Vietnamese, so I guess it makes sense, but wouldn't it be more interesting if it were a nickname he got in gym class or something?)

Loving your posts and wishing I had some tea tree oil to offer you for your poor limbs...

Emmie said...

I am happy to report that my massage therapist has miraculously reappeared!

Eurycleia,
We wondered about the origins of Wee's name as well, but on the license at his station it was spelled "Wee."

Thank you for the tea tree thought! I feel that I might know you - nurse of Odysseus who recognized him by the scar above his knee . . .

Sam said...

I'm happy to hear she is back. The loss of a good massage therapist is a tragedy of epic proportions!

~j. said...

Oh, I have that curse with the perfect eyebrow-waxer girl. I am currently on #3, who will move to Texas in June. *sigh* I'm glad your MT has returned, and will ponder the feelings in my heart which have been stirred from such a testimony.