So I am laying on the comfy and warm massage table, and the masseuse walks in. You can catch up on Part 1 here.
Masseuse: So you’re from Maryland? What are you doing here in Tampa?
Thoughtsy: My boyfriend and I are visiting friends, and this massage is part of my birthday present.
Masseuse: Awww…you have a nice boyfriend. Not like my exboyfriend. He was a crackhead.
Thoughtsy’s Thoughts: Oh my god, where the hell did Kiefer leave me? Weren’t those macarons in the Serenity Room? Surely the ghetto spa wouldn’t have macarons. Or a Serenity Room.
Thoughtsy: I’m glad he’s your ex.
Masseuse: My new boyfriend isn’t much better. He moved in with me because the crackhead was stalking me, but he slept with some girl a few nights ago.
Thoughtsy: Oh, I’m so sorry.
Masseuse: Don’t worry. I showed him. When he showed up at my house last night, I started screaming at him. And I threatened him with a butcher knife.
Thoughtsy’s Thoughts: Mental note to keep track of where her hands are at all times.
Masseuse: He was so controlling, too. I was never allowed to have any friends over, but he could have his over. But I showed him. Once when we were grilling with our neighbors, and I used scissors to cut his shirt.
Thoughtsy’s Thoughts: Dear God, Please let me make it out of here alive.
The masseuse eventually asked me what I thought of her current situation. I told her I thought it was time to leave her boyfriend. She agreed. I hope she does.
Masseuse: Oops. I went a little over on your massage because I was so busy talking. I hope you don’t mind. I wasn’t even going to talk to you at all, but I guess I just needed to get it all out.
Moral of the Massage: Listening to a masseuse vent will get you a longer massage.
Favorite Comment From Last Post: “Oh come on, no way she’s an effective bum self waxer. She can’t even see it all.”—Omawarisan