I love getting massages. I must do a good job of letting my friends know this because one of them surprised me with a certificate for a FREE one! Awesome! Not one to look a gift-massage in the mouth, I eagerly booked my massage and started counting down the minutes until I could melt away into bliss! Today was that day. I could already feel my tension dissolving as the miles to my destination decreased. As I pulled into the strip mall, I was less than impressed by the other shops and the general upkeep of the area, but hey, looks can be deceiving, right? As I sauntered through the front door, I immediately noticed how HOT it was in there! Dang people! It’s almost 90 outside – if you want to create a calming environment, try dropping the AC by double-digits! OK – as my lungs adjusted to the warm mugginess inside, my eyes adjusted to the dimness and realized it was a lovely lobby area. White couches, some platters of water and mints, a few flickering candles – things are looking up! I was handed some pesky paperwork to complete – which I rushed through because my bladder was calling louder than relaxation at the moment. Practically hurling the clipboard at the receptionist, I was basically hopping up and down as I inquired about the location of the restroom. Oh, you want to walk me there? Is it that hard to find? No, but I guess I’ll accept an escort. The bathroom. I truly believe you can tell a lot about a place by their bathroom (is anyone with me on that?). As I peered around the one-person bathroom, the first thing I noticed was that there was no toilet paper holder. To the left? Nope. To the right? Negative. Sitting on top of the tank? Struck out again! I finally spot a basket of rolls ACROSS THE ROOM (What???) and try to discretely grab one from my precarious position – and SUCCESS – whew, that was close. There was a weird alcove in the corner (where I thought it would be an ideal location for a hidden camera – if that gives you an idea of the overall FEEL of the place). Some exposed cabling and slightly dingy paint completed the “decorations”. I made it back to the lobby (which was a straight shot that I thankfully could remember since my escort had ditched me!). Flopping back onto the sofa for a breath, as soon as my booty hit the cushion, my massage therapist appeared. Ok – I’m ready! He walked me to the smaller rooms in the back and said we’d be in the first room (and waited for me to open the door – that’s weird). Some instrumental music playing and dim lighting – pretty typical massage room. Relaxation, here I come… (sidebar: I am comfortable with male or female massage therapists. It really doesn’t matter to me if they are good at their job and can apply deep pressure so it doesn’t just feel like their main goal is to oil me up.) Chris stepped out so I could undress and get under the sheet (um, kind of low thread count that seemed pretty sheer to me). He returned to begin my massage. He chattered a little about what kind of pressure I prefer (standard stuff here) and then started my massage. I don’t know exactly how many minutes had elapsed (probably less than five) when I started to wonder how to spell “SKEEVY”. (P.S. Urban Dictionary hit it on the head with the definition: Shifty, sleazy, creepy, dirty, dodgy, nasty.) He tried to keep up a conversation during the massage (really – shhhhhhh – be quiet). After massaging one side, he asked “is your other side lonely?” I think at that point my skin started to crawl on its own! Later, he mentioned that he had read my intake form and where I had noted the areas I didn’t want massaged (butt and stomach), he thought it was funny that I said BUTT and not buttocks. What the heck? (And no WAY was he going to touch my buttocks!) I'm lying face-down with limited vision when I hear a weird paper-rustling sound from somewhere in the room. Chris is still massaging me - so I can't figure out WHO or WHAT made that noise! Suddenly, Chris stops and says "I'll be right back." Um, OK - I guess I'll just hangout here in my underwear under this skimpy sheet... No rush! (eye roll). He returned about 3 minutes later and mentioned something about my voucher not covering a facial too (which was fine because at that point, I wasn't even sure I would survive the minutes left in my massage!). Maybe I’m being hypercritical – but in all fairness, I’d guess I have had (conservatively) 50 massages in my lifetime and NONE of them skeeved me out as much as this one! I really wanted to interrogate Chris to find out IF and WHEN he attended massage therapy school and if he had in fact gotten licensed. And now I need to go shower. For SO MANY reasons. The moral of the story: Just because you CAN buy a massage certificate from one of those deal-a-day websites doesn’t mean you SHOULD! | 
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