SPANKING AT THE SPA
It was the audacity to ask for referrals that annoyed me the most. We returned from what was supposed to be a massage session looking for painkillers. A day later, one lady called to ask how relaxed our bodies were after the session. My first question was: Where were you when the spa offered us to be slaughtered by hefty looking men? She said that for security reasons, the ladies closed early.
Then I asked her to give the phone to her boss. It was then I experienced the height of wickedness in the name of explanation. He said our body was made to undergo a bit of body work, so it’s understandable if we are experiencing some sort of discomfort, but it will get better with time. My body is not a car, and I didn’t ask for body work, I responded.
6 not their fault. It was my fault. How could I have allowed James to take me for a massage session in that ghetto. I should have known better after seeing a signage with a wrong spelling, but curiosity will not let me rest. I almost forgot to mention that they served us tea with no milk, no sugar, no honey, and it smells like one being offered to someone with fever.
What was supposed to be therapeutic turned out to be traumatic. Please, if you see me along the road, squeeze some money into my pocket. My body was traumatised, I need to get a phensic.
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