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One time I got a full body massage from a young male masseur who wouldn’t stop talking.  Not only did he state that it was obvious that this was my first massage by a man (it was) but he continued to jibber and jabber in the following fashion:

Do you have a garden?  I bet you do!  What do you grow?  Tomatoes.  Cucumbers.  Cute little clones of yourself?  Can you imagine if you cloned yourself?!?  You’d be in the grocery walking down your favorite aisle for that favorite food of yours, you know that food that you consider all your own, and you’d see yourself there buying out your favorite food and then you’d get in a fight with yourself.  It would be weird.  Would you mind turning over, under the sheet that is, I don’t look.

This is not a lie.

Is that light enough and funny enough for you?

That guy is probably a psycho-killer…

I just found out that my dreaded anoscopy (I wasn’t joking about that) will be performed by a woman and I hope there is little to no conversation.  I have no idea how long the procedure takes but it better be quick.

Anyhow, I’m going to get a massage that day to reward myself for going through the whole damn thing and that’s what made me think of the loquacious masseur.

That and my co-worker friend who suggested I write about teachers (because we know one) who get massages from their students.

That’s truly sick and teachers like that should be obliterated.

There are also those who text, talk on the phone, and You Tube during class.

Why am I busting my ass when those folk get paid the same, maybe even more, than I do?

I’m letting my son eat raw lasagna noodles.   That’s how I get these lovely little posts done.  I sit in the kitchen and make sure Silas is distracted with utensils and food items that he chews on and smears all over the floor.

We’re very upscale around here.

No, seriously.

Tonight is Music Together night.  The night that Silas and I go to music class together and he runs around screaming while I have to pretend that my fingers are a tickle snail and scoot them up and down a strange man’s arm.   It’s really fun.  I look forward to it every week.

No, seriously.

I guess I don’t have much else to say.  I just wanted to live up to my promise.  The promise that said I’d try to think of something funny to say.

I hope I could amuse you in some way.

Now I have to peel my son off the floor and get ready for the madness.

Until tomorrow.

This entry was posted on Monday, February 22nd, 2010 at 6:03 pm and is filed under Just (not so) Plain Life. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.