Masseuse is a funny word. Masseur is funnier.

I have posts I want to write, but they require pictures (they don’t require pictures, but I have pictures, so I should include pictures), and my phone isn’t right here right now and I’m too lazy to go get it and download them.  So I’m sorry, but you can’t have those posts.

Instead, you can read my new fairy tale: Zannah and The Three Massage Therapists.

I have had three massages in the last month or so because I am finally using the Massage Envy benefits that have been building up since we left Virginia.  The first one was pretty good.  Middle pressure, listened when I asked for a change in pressure, made a couple of pressure changes based on how I moved in response (she was paying attention!).  The second one was also very good except for the feet – way too much pressure on the tops of my feet, and every time she slid off my left big toe, the knuckle cracked.  (Yes, I should have said something.  No, I didn’t.)  The third one (today) was lighter on pressure (as requested by me) except when she was trying to get the knots out of my shoulders.  That was downright painful, and yes, DUH, I should have said something, but I toughed it out because I kept hoping it would work.  Nobody else can work those knots out – maybe serious pressure and non-stop digging in right on top of them and from every direction around would do it.

It didn’t.  Appointment number 4 will be with Massage Therapist #1.  And I will speak up.  Because I’m not a masochist.

The End.

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