I’ve always been a thrifty lass. From an early age I learned to sniff out the yellow sticker aisle in the supermarket and the bargain bins in shops thanks to a frugal mum and mama and I pride myself in telling you what an amazing deal I got on whatever item of clothing you choose to compliment me on.
Whilst thrift usually pays off, sometimes it jumps up and bites me on the bum. Take Sunday for example. A friend here suggested we go for a massage. Hell yeah, just what my sitting too much, lumpy mattress hating body needed. And when she suggested a place her neighbours had recommended that was offering a 50% discount well thrifty Sara’s eyes lit up.
A nice clean and fresh smelling place. Light, bright and airy and an entertaining sign on the door to our massage room (have to say I was a bit gutted not to be able to use my drung but thems the breaks!) meant I was in a positive frame of mind when the massage began.
We changed into our fisherman pants and tunic uniform and settled down to wait. The masseurs arrived and through a process of hand signals got us lying in the right position for what was to come.
It started off well, non of that namby pamby light touch stuff but plenty of firm kneading and pressing with copious use of the elbows in some particularly gnarly spots. However, as the massage went on I began to question my masseur’s competence. In between random heavy pressure massage movements which didn’t seem to be mirrored from left to right there were moments of pure oddness where she just kind of pinched my bicep from shoulder to elbow. After a while she then proceeded to add another layer of bizareness to the massage by repeating this pinching movement on my calves whilst alternately kneeling on or prodding at, my feet. All of this despite having specifically asked for a back neck and shoulder massage. For 45 minutes I endured the interspersion of randomness with massage all the while being forced to lie with my head turned to one side on a rather too fluffy, and therefore high, pillow.
Needless to say when my masseur grunted and gestured that she wanted me to turn over my neck was more than a little bit stiff and I wasn’t at all convinced that my shoulders had benefitted from the positioning either. However, I had a good old wriggle about, did some shoulder shuffles and neck wobbles and tried to convince myself that I did actually feel refreshed.
And just at that point, the bizarre became absolutely ridiculous. My masseur slapped an ice cold flannel on my face (to be fair it was very refreshing and smelt lovely and minty) and proceeded to perform a very odd rubbing movement with her thumbs between my eyebrows. She then had a bit of a poke and prod into my shoulders with her elboxs before ending the massage by performing the hair tug tango. This involved grabbing tufts of my hair and pulling them sharply to a one two three beat whilst I just lay there pondering what the actual f*ck was going on.
Two days on I have random bruises where her ‘massaging’ was over zealous, am still pondering why the hell I let her go on with the ridiculous charade, but on the plus side am only $5 worse off – gotta love a bargain!