When I entered the darkened room, a lady emerged from the dark shadows. She took my purse and jacket and directed me to a low-to-the-floor futon bed before leaving the room. Mandolin tunes drifted from the sound system.
“Take your shoes and socks off,” whispered another lady. The new lady told me to place my feet in a large tub as she poured hot—I mean very hawwwdt—water inside. The bottom of the tub had pointed daggers, making it difficult to relax with sharp pointed objects stabbing my feet.
I had never had a Thai and reflexology massage before and wanted to give the experience a try ever since two of my friends recommended it.
“It is wonderful,” one friend said.
I asked my sister if she also wanted to give it a try. Jodee has the adventurous spirit and agreed to meet me at the spa my friend recommended. Mama Deed, our 85-year-young mom, came along.
I knew the sharp spikes in the tub had something to do with reflexology and pressure points connecting certain parts of the feet to other parts of the body, thereby treating the whole body to better health. Daggers jabbed my feet while immersed in boiling water. Would I need a trip to ER before the night ended?
Jodee and Mama Deed had their feet inside tubs also. They sat on beds next to me. Each of us had a massage therapist for the hour. I hoped our time at the spa would be relaxing and “wonderful.” I would overlook the potential stitches and bandages I’d need for my injured feet.
My therapist, I’ll call her Alice because I never asked her name, had me lie down and brought over a hot towel for my neck. She placed it under my head. “Oww, ouch!”
“Too hot?” Alice asked. Uh, yes. Did she not understand my hair could have ignited into flames at any second? Alice placed a dry towel over the steaming hot towel. It helped a little, but my neck started itching in response to the fiery steam. Still, I didn’t want to complain further. I endured for the sake of the therapeutic benefits I hoped it would bring.
Alice pressed my skull with her fist. Press. Press-ssss. Squeeze. Alice must have sensed I couldn’t take it any longer and stopped. She actually did herself a favor. I had only moments before I morphed into a crazed woman screaming and swatting in a can’t-take-it frenzy.
If you aren’t familiar with a Thai massage, it is a massage with clothes on. Developed in Thailand 2,500 years ago, it’s an ancient form of stretching and applying pressure along the body’s energy lines to increase flexibility, relieve muscle and joint tension, and balance the body’s energy systems.
Using the sides of her hands, Alice beat on my body like a bongo drum. Then she kneaded me like bread dough. She crouched over me and drilled her fist into my back like a jackhammer. I jumped up from the discomfort.
When will the muscle tension leave me? I wondered. Muscle tension seemed to increase as the session progressed.

“Did that hurt of tickle?” Alice asked. “Both,” I said, adding, “I’ve had surgeries.” Alice thanked me for telling her of my gentle condition. Then she bored the heal of her hand into my spine and attempted to kill me. “That doesn’t feel good,” I said.
“Oh, you’re so sensitive,” Alice said, wanting me to realize I’m the rare person who can’t handle her fabulous, hand-pressing, healing skills. She added, “Look at your sister.” In other words, focus on your sister and see how well she handles pain.
If I hadn’t committed to paying for the full hour, I would have quit at that point. But I kept thinking, maybe the relaxing part comes next. Maybe she’ll bring out tea and cookies. I didn’t want to miss that.
I kept enduring her squishing and squashing and squeezing. The mandolin tunes shifted to piano music, the kind of music you hear at an all-night lounge at 2 a.m.
Alice yanked on my fingers, trying to break them so I would never write another blog again. As her ‘la grande finale,’ she gave my feet a final loud slap.

“We’re finished,” she whispered sweetly.

Oh, thank goodness. Thank, thank GOODNESS. But what? No tea or cookies? No reward for our suffering?
I rubbed my shoulder as I hobbled out. It hurt. Smiling, Alice reminded me I had a knot in my shoulder and she did her best to relieve me of it.

After leaving the spa, Jodee said, “My neck feels better. But that was painful.”
“I’m sorry Jodee,” I said. “My friends love this place.”
“They probably had different therapists,” Jodee said.
Yes, yes, that’s it. What other explanation could there be?
The nice, gentle therapists took the day off on the very day we were there.

Later, at my house, Jodee, Mama Deed, and I had banana bread and tea. We deserved it. And the next day we had pancakes with blueberry and butter pecan syrups. Mama Deed had French vanilla creamer in her coffee. We deserved all of that too.

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