Bowling Pins, Fish and Nudity

A few days ago Dylan was complaining about his leg hurting. He decided that he needed a massage. And, because he feels guilty running off to get a massage and leaving me with all the children, he invited me to go along.

A few items:

-I have had exactly 2 professional massages in my life (and that includes this one).

-I generally do not pay people to look at me naked. I try to reserve that for people who are taking a baby human out of me.

-I'm not big on the "pampering" thing. Massages hurt. Manicures hurt. Haircuts hurt. Really it's like saying, "Hi Kylie! Would you like to go to Spa Gitmo?"

So, because I had been thinking a day at the spa would be a good gift for my sister (yeah, she doesn't read my blog, so I can say whatever I want about her), I thought I should actually go and TRY to enjoy a massage.

So we went to a multipurpose joint. It's a swimming pool/spa/bowling alley/nightclub. I think they also sell fish.

And the massage rooms are directly below the bowling alley. Because back after the wall fell, apparently someone thought putting a bowling alley on the third floor was a good idea. Actually it seems that several someones thought this, as I have yet to see a bowling alley in this country that is on the ground floor.

So, because I am extremely uncomfortable being naked in front of people, I try to keep my mind occupied. It wanders pretty well because I have the attention span of a gnat. And being directly below the bowling alley helped.

I wondered whether my masseur ever gave his significant other massages. You know, if I had a committed partner who was a masseur (and I was a normal person who didn't think massage was actually a code word for torture), I'd be demanding massages all the time.

Several times I wanted to yell "STRIKE!" Did I mention I was DIRECTLY below the bowling alley? Nothing more relaxing than the sound of a heavy ball rolling across a wooden floor and knocking things down. On second thought, it sounds an awful lot like home.

My masseur worked on my legs, back, and arms and then asked me to roll over. Except, because he spoke only enough English for the commands, and Polish has the whole command thing down it was more like "Turn over!" As though he was commanding that a pancake flip itself.

When I did turn over, I was a caught a bit off guard.

Didn't he have clothes on when I walked in? Had he been naked the whole time? Do they always do this?

I thought, "I'm just gonna close my eyes and PRETEND you're wearing something other than a Speedo." Which is totally the opposite of what my husband was thinking about his masseuse.

When I met back up with my husband I asked him if his girl was naked.

*blink, blink*

Then he said, "NO! You have to pay extra for THAT! This is gonna cost us!"

And I'm out of my country for a couple of weeks. I'll probably not be posting all that regularly, I'll try, but I can't make any promises:).