Massage Therapy

This morning I got a massage.
The official posting of my grades happened yesterday, and, for the first time in my academic career, I got a 4.0. I decided to give myself a little congratulatory treat for all of my hard work this semester, so I called and made myself a massage appointment for this morning.
I love massages. At first I thought I didn't because the first one I ever got was by a man (some might think that sounds like a pro rather than a con, but you would think differently if you had seen Edward...), but I really do love them. They're so relaxing, and relieve tensions I sometimes don't even know I have.
If you've never had the pleasure of a getting a massage (or, like Austin Powers says it, a 'sensual ma-sage'), I would highly recommend it.
I love my masseuse Sandy, who did the one today. She's so nice and friendly. And, let's be honest, I'm sure she sees some nasty stuff. If I had her job, I'd probably be short with people and make sarcastic comments, but not Sandy.
One of my favorite parts of getting a massage from Sandy is that part of it feels a bit like calisthenics: like a little mini workout. Except, it is what I would imagine a workout might feel like if I was in a coma. She moves my limbs around in all sorts of funny positions, while the rest of me remains dead weight. It's a strange but pleasant experience.
I also love Sandy's bag of hot coals she uses during the massage. I'm pretty positive it's not really a bag of hot coals, exactly (more like a netted sack of warmed pebbles, I think), but that's what I like to call it. I can hear that bag of hot coals when she brings it in, and I know a really good part is coming. After that I just about sink clean through the table and onto the floor I'm so relaxed.
That brings me to another observation. I've often wondered how, on television shows like The Bachelor, couples can get massages together while keeping their eyes open and carrying on entire conversations. I couldn't do it. I can't even hold my eyes open, much less attempt to speak. I think if I was forced to speak, it might sound something like the noises Marv makes in Home Alone 2 as he's being repeatedly hit in the head with falling bricks. A series of grunts and wheezes and indecipherable mumblings...
Finally, when I get up from the massage, I always expect my hair to be sticking out from my head in a Medusa-like style due to the oil, but it never is. Just before I get up I always think what a disaster my hair is certainly going to be, but, somehow, it falls into place. I find that to be so odd.
Anyway, I have floated around all day today, all mushy and relaxed. God bless that Sandy, and her bag of hot coals, too...