Today, I finally got to use my friend, John's, Christmas present. A trip to the spa for a "healing stone" massage. I've seen the photos on glossy fashion mags. Svelte models with these dark grayish black stones, like the ones you find on zen gardens, lined up in a row on their backs. I sort of knew that these stones would be hot (if they weren't then anybody with a zen garden or a backyard grotto can do it), but it doesn't really hit you until you do it yourself. And boy,did they hit me! Those things are hot, dagnamit!
It was okay at first when they do the massage thing with it. Rolling them up and down your back. Nice and toasty. But when they leave it idling on your coccyx...that's when this cat hits the roof. Yao-za! Those things are nasty! Then the lady rolls them up and down again and everything is all rosy again, lulling you to complacency...then bam! Hhssssss...
The whole time you are teetering between nirvana and the inquisition. And what's with the putting of miniature versions of these things between the toes part? The masseuse was lucky that I was too tired and too inflexible to bend and shoot those hot little pebbly things like an uzi back at her. Those were totally scathing, I tell you!
So just when you are about to yell 'kato!kato!kato!' to the masseuse, your 90-minutes are up. And you say, hmmm that wasn't so bad. A person has to try this at least once in their lives. Then you dazedly amble out of the spa, all relaxed and oily. Unaware of this big red dot on your back...branded by a nasty little oval stone the masseuse left loitering on your shoulder blades just a little too long...ouch.
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