Monday, February 20, 2006

38/365 Mark

My bad massage came from Mark. His clumsy, erratic touch, and repeated attempts to squirt lotion from a container so empty it farted, paled against the incense he lit while endlessly thrumming about the benefits of time spent with parents. Mine are unfortunately dead.

3 Comments:

Blogger Indigo Bunting said...

I feel like I'm on the table. And thrumming may be my new favorite word.

9:30 AM  
Blogger jane said...

i once had a facial so bad, i faked my post relaxation. i thought to myself, "what has become of me that i feel the need to fake a relaxation? this is a new low"

so? did you fake a relaxation?

7:27 PM  
Blogger - Christine said...

By the time I happily escaped to the serenity of my car I was laughing, shaking my head because it had become so bad it was comical. Like how he insisted I take with me the give-away plastic cup he had screened for his open-house earlier that week. When I pointed out the the cup was full of water, he said I could take that too!

Still I couldn't believe I was complaining about a massage! I mean c'mon! But that night I described my experience to my sister and a friend who both agreed - nope that was bad...

8:42 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home