Getting the Kinks Out

I had sensed that my back has been a bit sore of late, although I hadn't given it much notice until last night, when I found myself looking squarely across the room at my friend Lewissa's place, staring straight at her red microfiber massage chair.

"Can I use the massage chair?" I asked, already knowing what the answer would be and moving up from the dining chair I'd been occupying.

Ahhh! Who doesn't love a little massage now and then? I settled in while continuing my conversation with Lewissa, with Michael playing with Diego, Lewissa's unusually energetic pug, on the sofa. It's a good thing to be among friends when using a massage chair, I noted, as they can lead to a lot of jiggling. On the Turkey tours we offer at Europe Through the Back Door, our bus frequently stops at service stations offering ten minute mechanical massages for a small fee in giant, overstuffed black leather chairs. Watching people in the chairs is almost as good as getting to be in one yourself, and after hours on the road people find their inhibitions sufficiently lowered for this sort of thing, and simply sigh contendedly while their torsos are kneaded and prodded regardless of who might be looking on.

So it was that I was able to remain dignified (at least, from my perspective) while being treated like a snare drum by the little red chair. But honestly, while the rolling action was quite nice, the snare drum effect left something to be desired. Next time, I know what option not to pick.

This morning I found that my lower back and neck felt nice and relaxed. The area around my shoulder blades, not so much. Oh, massage chair, you sneaky devil, I'm going to need another massage to undo your work! Now I just need to figure out how to convince Michael to take on the job himself... Hmm... perhaps this was my brilliant plan all along.