Last week, I got a manicure. I picked my favorite new color—Chinchilly—a dark taupe/gray that really suits me quite well since I am all about the grays. As if getting a random, just-because midweek manicure weren’t already a bit indulgent, I topped this indulgence off with another indulgence: a back rub. A very efficient, same-time back rub. Yes, that’s right. While a Manicure Lady was buffing my beleaguered nails, Massage Man manipulated my mangled muscles. I am not telling you this because I have run out of things to say. I am not telling you this to offer a window into a spoiled existence. No. There is a point. One that has nothing to do with self-pampering.
Ready for said point? Sure you are. I don’t know whether I’ve been sleeping in contorted positions or whether it’s the ceaseless lugging of two robust kids, or that vast computer bag, but the massage was painful. It hurt. I know many people are of the school that a massage should hurt because then it means something is being accomplished. But I’m not a student of that school. I look to massage to help me do something I’ve forgotten how to do: relax.
There was nothing remotely relaxing about those burrowing fingers (and fingernails). No. My head was “resting” in the head “rest,” and I was thankful for this because the Massage Man could not see that my eyes were watering. Yes, tears. It hurt that much.
And yet. I said nothing. Nothing.
At some point, I think Massage Man could tell I was uncomfortable because he asked, “Are you okay? Too hard?”
And still. This time I said something. “Yes, I’m okay. I’m fine. That’s fine.”
And so he kept going with the “therapeutic” torture. And when our time was up, I stood up. I forced a decorous smile and said thank you and handed him a tip.
Are you still squinting out there, trying to locate the point? Sorry. Here it is:
Why is it so hard for so many of us to say, “That hurts”?
