“I’m stressed,” I told my best friend.

“You should get a massage,” she said.

“Yes, I should,” I said.

I booked a massage.

“Has it been a while since your last massage?”  The scheduler asked when I called to book.

“Yes,” I said.  “Two years.”

“Well, it’s definitely time,” she said, laughing.

“Sure is,” I said, also laughing.  “I need to relax.”

“I’d say so,” she said, very seriously.

The day of the massage arrived.

“I’m leaving for my massage,” I told Kyle.  “To relax.”

“Sounds good,” he said, not looking up from whatever he was doing.

I stopped in the doorway.

“Can I wear this to a massage?”  I asked.

He looked up.

“Can you wear what to a massage?”  He asked.

“My sweats,” I said, gesturing to my sweats.  “Should I wear something less shlubby?”

“Are you going somewhere after your massage?”  He asked.

“No,” I said.

“Then I think you should be comfortable,” he said, returning to whatever he was doing.  “The point is to relax, and sweats are relaxing.”

“I think a bathrobe is more relaxing,” I said.  “Should I wear a bathrobe?”

“Do what feels right,” he said.

I left home in my sweats, although a robe did feel right.

At the massage…parlor?  salon?  what do you call massage places?…my masseuse showed me into my room and told me to get undressed and under the covers.  He left, closing the door behind him.  The room was dark and filled with the lovely scents and musical sounds that massage parlors(?) use to make you feel relaxed. 

I took a deep breath, and then undressed as if I were in a footrace over hot coals just in case my masseuse decided to barge into the room unexpectedly instead of knocking lightly after an appropriate amount of time and then waiting for my response before entering.  I tucked my bra into my sweatpants like every woman has done since the dawn of time when she has had to remove her bra at places like the doctor’s office and massage salons(?) where they could care less about bras, and then leapt onto the heated massage table and pulled the sheet up to my neck.

Then I laid there for what felt like a long time but was actually an appropriate amount of time until my masseuse knocked lightly at the door.

“Okay to come in?”  He asked gently.

“Yes,” I said.  He came in.

“I am very excited about this,” I told him.  “I need to relax.”

“Mmm,” he said.

“Man, I love it when they don’t talk to you,” I thought as he tucked my arms into the table.  “It’s so nice to be able to clear your mind and really focus on relaxing.  Which I will do now.  Relaaax, Amanda.  Omm relaaaaaaxxxxxxxxxx.”

The masseuse started rubbing my shoulders.

“I wonder if my shoulders feel tense,” I thought to myself.  “I think they may feel tense.  If they feel tense, he may think he’s doing a bad job, when he’s actually doing a good job.  Relax your shoulders, Amanda, relllaaaaaaaax.”

I took a deep breath and turned my shoulders into jelly.

“No, too far,” I thought.  “That’s too much.  He’ll think he’s done with your shoulders and he’s not.  Take it back a notch.”

I took another deep breath and turned my shoulders into four-day-old refrigerated Jell-O.

“Good work, Amanda,” I thought.  “You’re really good at this.  But you’re also really bad at this because you’re not relaxing your mind.  Time to relax your mind.  Listen to the music and relaaaaaaaaaaaxxxxxxxxx.”

I listened to three notes of music.

“Is this the New Age version of ‘Back in Black?’”  I thought.  “Did AC/DC have to sign off on that or did someone like Yanni just cover it?  Does AC/DC have a requirement for cover artists who turn things into massage studio(?) music like, ‘You need to use a didgeridoo and have at least four beats of triangle?’”

I listened further.

“Oh, it’s not ‘Back in Black’ at all,” I thought.  “It’s a different song.  I wonder if they use a Spotify or a Pandora channel here.  Or maybe a CD.  Do people still use CDs?  Wait a minute, what happened to my CDs?  I had all of those great CDs.  I need to find those CDs.  I mean, I have all of those songs on Spotify, but I also have them on CD and so I should figure out where those are.  Maybe they are in the storage room?  When was the last time I went into the storage room?  It’s probably a mess.  I should get some bins and use my label maker and really organize that room.  Wait a minute, what happened to my label maker?  I had that great label maker.  I need to find it.  I mean, I could just use hockey tape, but I also have a great label maker and so I should figure out where that is.”

The masseuse moved to my leg, tucking the sheet up a bit around my hip.

“Oh my gosh, which underwear am I wearing?”  I thought.  “I was so worried about my sweats that I forgot to think about my underwear.  Am I wearing horrible underwear?  Is he judging my horrible underwear?  Can they ask you not to come back to a massage store(?) if you are wearing horrible underwear?  No, they can’t, because you’ve had massages before in horrible underwear and you were fine.  What you’re not fine about is relaxing.”

“Relaxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx, Amanda,” I thought.  “Reeeeeeeeeeeellllllllaaaaaaaaaxxxxxxxxxx.”

“I do think they could ask you to not come back to a massage facility(?), though,” I thought to myself.  “What do you need to do to get kicked out?  Something untoward, for sure.  What about gas?  Could you fart your way out of a massage?  I should look that up after I leave.  I’m sure someone has made a TikTok about getting kicked out of a massage.  Note to self: TikTok.”

The masseuse held the sheet up so I could turn over onto my back.

“How many massage therapists sneak a peek when you flip over?”  I thought.  “Probably none.  They’ve already had their hands all over your weird and floppy bits, they don’t need to see them.  Or it’s like the gynecologist; you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.  I wonder what my gynecologist is up to right now?  It’s a Saturday.  What does a gynecologist do on a Saturday?  Normal Saturday things, I suppose.  Does he have a hobby?  What kind of a hobby would a gynecologist have?  Cave diving?  Ha ha.  That’s a good one, I should write that down.  Note to self: gynecologist cave diving.”

The masseuse moved down to my feet.

“Dang, the feet means it’s almost over, right?  Is it almost over?  Has it been an hour?  It doesn’t feel like an hour.  Maybe it does feel like an hour.  I’m going to count to 60 and if that feels like a minute I’m going to multiply that feeling by another 60.  One, two – wait, I’m supposed to be relaxing.  RELAX.”

I relaxed for either 45 minutes or 45 seconds.

“Okay,” my masseuse said.  “Take your time getting up and I’ll meet you at the front desk.”

I called Kyle on my way home.

“How was it?”  He asked.  “Are you relaxed?”

“I think so,” I said, taking a sip from my free bottle of massage salon water.

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My eleven-year-old took a photo of one of our recent sunsets. It is above.

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This week on North Dakota Today we talked about Dave Bruner, my Nice Person of the Week, as well as a musical gathering for veterans (and everyone) courtesy of the Brady Oberg Legacy Foundation. (Valley News Live)

Rugby is now home to the world’s largest glass and steel sculpture. (KFYR TV)

I think I may talk about this on TV, but just in case if not: the residents and staff at the North Dakota State Penitentiary raised $4,500 to reduce student lunch debt. (AM 1100 The Flag)

Bismarck’s kids are now 175 coats warmer thanks to the Knights of Columbus. (KFYR TV)

If you’re looking for some lighthearted entertainment, the UND Theatre Arts department is putting on “Barefoot in the Park.” (Grand Forks Herald)

West Fargo’s Anna Tywinski has been Honored. (Prairie Public)

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