Moss, is humor writer from Tennessee. She writes a
weekly human interest column about daily life and the funny
things that happen to everyone.
She has written for the Daily News of Kingsport, Griffin Journal,
Oakridge Now, Atlanta Woman Magazine, Aberdeen Examiner, Angleton
Advocate, and Smyrna AM, a supplement of the Murfreesboro Daily News
Journal. She has been
published by Voyageur Press, McGraw Hill, and the good folks
at Guidepost Books. Her articles have appeared in
numerous anthologies and other publications, both in print and online.
She is a
former board member and past Editor of the Columnists.com, website of the National Society of Newspaper
oldest and largest professional organization
for columnists. She is the Web Editor of
Humorists.com and a founder of the Southern Humorists writers'
organization. She is writer, editor, and webmaster of HumorColumnist.com.
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Online Since 1999
I have seen massages on
television, usually in comedy skits. The masseuses always look like sumo
wrestlers, and throw a towel across your bottom while they knead you like a hunk
of dough and then beat you to a pulp with karate chops.
No, I didn't think I needed that.
I was a bit afraid to have a massage. I wasn't sure what they would do to me. I
didn't want a fat wrester twisting me into a pretzel. Besides, it seemed silly
to pay money to have someone to rub my back.
Still, I did have this stiff neck and shoulder pain that nothing seemed to help,
regardless of how much BenGay I slathered on or how long I slept on a heating
pad. I couldn't help but think how heavenly it would feel to have someone who
knew what they were doing work on those neck muscles.
Tension and stress are epidemic these days, and I read that massages are
terrific for arthritic pain too. I almost had myself talked into it when, as
luck would have it, the beauty shop where I was going began to provide massage
Still I was hesitant.
Then, one day when I was complaining about my neck, my honey said, "If you
are hurting, why don't you get a professional massage?
Ha, if he thinks it is so great, why doesn't he get one?
Since he brought up the subject, I decided to get him a gift certificate. Let
him become the Pillsbury doughboy.
I think he was a bit nervous about it too. He insisted on going at the same
time. I went to get my hair done. But afterwards, he raved about how good it
I was envious. Wait a minute; I'm the one that needs a massage! Why is he the
one going? I hoped he would take the hint and get me a gift certificate too. He
didn't. Men do not take hints. You have to spell it out.
"If anyone wants to know what I want for my birthday," I said, "I
would like a gift certificate for a m-a-s-s-a-g-e.
Once I had a gift certificate in my sweaty palms, however, I was again afraid. I
couldn't very well ask him to go with me. Finally, I took a deep breath and
called and made the appointment.
The massage therapist took my medical history and explained all about what she
The room was dimly lit, and had some of that weird relaxation music playing as
well as the sound of trickling water coming from somewhere. She used aromatic
oil that smelled wonderful.
The white table was just a comfortable as I thought it would be. I was covered
with a nice soft sheet for the entire time to protect my modesty. She massaged
my scalp, my shoulders, and back. It was even more relaxing than I had imagined.
I suffer from back pain and could not stand the deep massage like she used for
my shoulders. So, she simply worked on pressure points to help relieve the pain,
and then massaged the aching muscles in my legs.
I didn't get kneaded like a wad of dough or spun like a pizza crust. No body
slams or judo punches. It was perfectly safe and a soothing relief for sore
muscles and relief of tension.
I left with a bottle of water to help rid my system of toxins and prevent
soreness. It was wonderful.
By the way, she didn't resemble a sumo wrestler at all -- not even a little bit.
Copyright 2007 Sheila Moss
Nashville, TN 37219
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