Massage table manufacturers. Would it kill you to put boob holes in?
Being the owner of a decent set of boobs and being bent up over a keyboard for hours on end, how can I put this…
My back is fucked.
It is as tight as a camels ass in a sandstorm. I would describe it as crunchy. I walk around feeling that my shoulders are up around my ears most of the time. Every time the kids punch on, they seize up a little bit more. I often tell my mates that my ass is so big because I carry all my stress in my buttocks. So my ass and my shoulders are solidly packing some tension.
A while ago, my uni friend Sawhole was staying with me. We were both bitching about being stressed so I booked us in for a massage. Massages are a divisive thing. You either love them or hate them. Mr. Woog loathes them as he is quite ticklish. I embrace them wholeheartedly, and really go to my happy place when someone is lovingly rubbing oil into my limbs.
So Sawhole and me went along and indulged in a hot stone massage, a treatment where warmed stones are rubbed over your body until your eyes are crossed with glee. It was one of those Chinese Massage Parlours in the local shopping centre. My therapist was seriously amazing and was able to basically tell me everything that was wrong with me, including the fact that I needed to eat more broccoli. At the end, she said that I needed to do one hour of remedial massage every week for six weeks and I would be a new woman.
Ever seeking to be the best version of me, I thought LETS DO THIS TINA! (For Tina was her name and also some of the fee was covered by my health care fund Bupa)
The word remedial has two meanings. One is to assist children who have fallen behind with their learnament. The other means pure, 100% torture, which I was soon to find out.
I turned up to my next date with Tina, stripped down to my reg grundies and prepared for an hour of bliss. She began by stretching out my back and copping a good feel here and there. And then she turned into the bitch troll from hell.
Tina had the uncanny ability to seek out the tight areas on my shoulders and back like a heat seeking missile. Once she discovered a knot, she was on it like flies on a freshly laid turd.
“You have a knot” and I would agree with her before becoming a human platform for her to climb up on, before she put her whole body behind her elbow, which she jammed into the knot.
HOLY FUCK ON A FURNACE. I shut my eyes and started breathing like I was about so give birth. Occasionally I would lose control and let out a pathetic yelp before going back to my labour breathing. “This too shall pass” I thought to myself. But it didn’t. It went on for far too long. I could feel it, and indeed it was crunchy. Tina was determined to win this battle and eventually, she did.
Feeling like I had just done six rounds with Mike Tyson, Tina’s work had only just begun. She moved her hands slowly down to the other danger area, the top of my buttocks where it met my lower back…
I think the word I am looking for is PUMMELLED. Tina PUMMELLED my buttocks with all the determination of a rabid bull. I swear at one point, she stood on them and danced an Irish jig. I was stunned in a mixture of horror and exquisite pain which was made even more unbearable due to the fact that I had to suck back up a fart which was threatening to blow Tina up to the roof.
After 60 long minutes, by punishment was over. I felt a little broken. But also, a whole lot taller.
“I will see you on Friday” Tina said to me. And Friday is tomorrow and I am already scared.