Ok, so I kept my appointment and showed up for my massage yesterday.

The one I’d been fretting over because they booked me with a male masseuse. I was fairly nervous going in, so nervous that after I shook Dave’s hand, he told me to lay face down, then left the room, and I completely forgot which way to lay when it was time to get on the table. Face up? Face down? WHAT DID HE TELL ME??? Where’s the instruction book?

Dave was certainly qualified and all, I just couldn’t get past my hangup of having a man do the massage. The entire time I was trying to relax, but instead spent the majority of the hour insulting myself. You know, with unimportant critiques, like ‘Do I have backfat? Did I shave my legs well enough? Will my heels feel cracked? Will I snore if I fall asleep? Should I have skipped that bag of M&M’s?’ and on and on and on.

So, while I’m sure my muscles are now more relaxed…

…I left feeling like I need to sign up for a serious gym membership.

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