Yesterday, I made the oddly commonplace decision of getting a massage at work. I entered the massage room hesitantly, my laptop in tow in case I had to make a break for it. S. , the massage therapist, floated and twirled busily around the room, putting towels here, and sheets there. After my initial shock at 1) finding a mini-spa just an elevator ride away from my desk and 2) not finding a short, dumpy brown woman who would make sure that everyone pronounced her name correctly, I settled into the chair. I heard the uncertainty in her voice as she said, "and, now put your head in the headrest," and as I leaned forward, I realized why. My nose smashed against the padded shoulder rest, I could barely breathe. From somewhere far away, I heard S. say, "now try to sit taller," but my spine would not comply. I resurfaced to take a breath, and S. looked at me with concern. "Sometimes, people with certain body structures do better on the table," she said kindly, and motioned me to the table. I guess she found it rude to mention the specifics of that type of body structure. Just say it, I'm short.
The massage was relaxing, but brief, I left the massage room feeling slightly dazed and unfulfilled. Next time, I'll sign up for an hour.
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