Friday, April 11, 2008

Guess Who's Not a Masseuse Extraordinaire?

Massages, aah... I do not enjoy them and won't suffer through them unless I'm in pain and it's my mom or Husband doing the massaging. Venture slightly to the light side and they tickle me, venture slightly towards the other extreme and they hurt and tickle me. I'm like the Goldilocks of massages. They have to be exactly like my mom's or Husband's to be just right or they're just too-too. You should see me go for foot spas (which I don't get anymore now because our friend who gives them decided to move her business to Qatar), I'll be sitting in my chair screaming in laughter, literally tickled crazy, while the masseuse goes after my swing-flinging legs.
I'm anything but a dab hand at giving them either. Backrubs certainly don't figure much in bonding moments around here. In fact, family members actually make fun of my limp wrists. You'll hear me grunting in my effort, but you still won't feel pressure from my manual ministrations. However, when the real need arises, I find that I'm able to deliver. Anyway, for some reason, Husband developed a pain in the general area of the socket of his left arm. It got really intense yesterday evening and this morning I ended up getting the bottle of jatropha oil blend from my mom and the wooden duck massager that Marguerite uses as a toy to do my own version of massage. Anyway, tonight Husband says the pain's almost gone. Of course, he had also applied menthol and camphor patches, but I'd like to think that my "massage" had something to do with it as well. If it didn't, at least he smelled of delicious cookies the whole day because of the oil. Really, you'd think an oil that is touted to be the answer to automotive problems such as gas hikes and pollution would have a fiercer smell than that of freshly-baked cookies.