Don't Worry It Happens To A Lot Of....People

There aren't many times when laughing is awkward. Sure, if I "I was the kinda guy who laughed at a funeral"...that would be wrong, and maybe even cruel. Or those times in choir performances when us altos would start laughing and mess up the entire harmony...that didn't exactly make us look professional. And finally, if in some serious lecture I started laughing, I know that I would get a dirty look from both the professor and the students (especially the ones screaming PROFESSOR and asking all the questions). Actually, if this was middle school or elementary school me, I might even get kicked out of class or get a D in Citizenship for laughing (TRUE STORY).

But honestly, I love to laugh. I may even love it as much as the old guy who sings about it in Mary Poppins...Remember him?



Ok, so maybe I am not quite as delirious as Uncle Albert, and maybe I secretly wish laughing could make me fly like it does for him, but besides a few extreme examples I never realized I would ever be in a situation where I would be straining to make myself stop laughing. Yet, that was until being ticklish made yet another supposedly relaxing massage...a little more awkward. An early disclaimer, if you are going to read this entire post pervertedly, I do not know why you are reading my blog, and I have a feeling that you and my porn loving computer should go off and be best friends.

Anywhoooo... Sure, I have had my fair share of weird massages. There was the time that the masseuse told me I had scoliosis even though with my shoulder injury I had previously had Xrays, MRIs, and Bone Scans and no doctor had ever told me that. Then, there was the time I went to an appointment sick and the Bahamian masseuse decided instead of a normal massage she would do "reflexology" on me. This entailed her pushing on distinct areas on the soles of my feet to try to make me "not feel sick anymore". Apparently, each place on my foot correlated to a place on my sinuses, but, unfortunately, I missed the educational lesson as it felt like acupuncture and was NOT even REMOTELY relaxing. There was also the time in Switzerland when the masseuse didn't leave the room for me to change and get on the table...but I will just leave it at that. Even if there are MUCH worse massages to have, and I am sure if I had the massage below I would feel like Samuel L. Jackson on that plane, as far as weird massages go, this one did not scream GET OUT NOW.



It all started out great, maybe it hurt a little, but I definitely needed it. She wasn't a huge overbearing woman with some name like OLGA or HELGA, which alone can make massages intimidating, and that was a huge plus. In fact, everything was fine and dandy....until I turned over, was face up, and she got to my legs. At first I flinched and she didn't say anything. I thought to myself, good, maybe she did not even notice. But then, she tried again and my legs spazzed out of control. I tried to keep a straight face and began biting my lips to do so. Yet, all of my internal struggle soon boiled over and I let out a HUGE laugh. I sort of tried to cover it up and go back to relaxing but then the masseuse said..."um...I didn't know that people were STILL ticklish as "adults" ." A note to my readers, adult is in quotation marks, and will be in all upcoming entries. This is because I do not yet consider myself an adult. I am not sure when I will do this, or what age this word actually sticks, but I am determined to hold out until the last possible second.

I will admit that I was a lot more ticklish when I was little, and if I think back I can picture many times when my brothers would just threaten to tickle me, and move their hands creepily, and I would bust out laughing. But, I didn't know being ticklish was a disability to have as an "adult"... especially if it is a reflex and not some sick sexual habit.

Awesome. Now I feel super uncomfortable and this woman is still massaging me.

I try to normalize my situation and ask: "Oh, no one else laughs at any point during a massage?".
She answers: "not that I know of, no", and then realizing how awkward I was now feeling, she proceeds to try to cover it up by saying, "but maybe those people only get their backs and shoulders massaged, or maybe they do not even get massages".

I spend the next few minutes trying to decide if my newly labeled "disability" was reason enough to keep me from such a fantastically relaxing pastime. My quick conclusion was undoubtedly NO, but I then began to feel bad for these "invalids" if this issue kept them from getting massages. I wanted to start a support group for people like us, but unfortunately most of the names I came up with sounded wrong and being the moderately prude person that I am, I decided I could not be a member of any group, even if it was anonymous, if it sounded like a place for sex offenders.

In the midst of listing potential three letter acronyms for my newly formed group, and subsequently crossing most of them off the list, I was suddenly reminded that my legs were not the worst part of my body. Immediately, all I can think is "Oh crap, I hope she does not massage my feet" . Just my luck...she lightly grazed my foot and I could not even fake it. I die. Literally, I have a mini seizure on the table. I actually may have even turned into my own version of Tickle me Elmo...and there was no stopping me, except finding a way to remove my batteries, or perhaps, throwing me against a wall.

I start to apologize to my masseuse over and over and mention that I have made many pedicurists feel uncomfortable. I tell her not to worry because with that situation there is usually the whole language barrier thing and they sometimes think they are torturing me and give me these priceless stares.

Oops...did I just say that out loud??!?! STELLAR. Now she thinks I am a disabled racist.

Just when I think this couldn't possibly get any worse for me, she touches my toes and as I start to laugh she says "...NOOOO WAY... even your toes? That's SOOOO CUTE."

Now I know that I kind of giggle when I laugh and that could be "cute", but being "cute" because of something she thinks is practically a disability...that is NOT an appropriate use of the word. For example, I might find this poster wrong, and in that way REALLY hilarious and worth stopping to take a picture, but I do NOT, and could not, classify Helen Keller's disabilities as "cute".



That was the last straw. Instead of digging myself into a deeper hole by trying to make casual conversation, I close my eyes and wait for the relaxing break after a hard day of work to JUST be over. I try to ignore the weird African drum music in the background intended for further relaxation and I actually count down until the end of my massage. It was as if "too much had happened" and we needed to go on a break. Oh, and THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID.