Hiding the evidence

This weekend the Boy went away to play with some of his more unsuitable friends. Like any reasonable woman would, I took advantage of his absence to book myself in for a 90 minute deep tissue massage at the Ki Mantra salon.

I walked in to be greeted by a six foot three African god with muscles layered on muscles and an open, friendly smile. The smile put me at my ease – maybe a bit too much. It wasn’t til the massage started that I realised that I should have been more concerned with the muscles.

Ninety minutes of pummelling later he had worked every knot and every clunk into putty and found my stress centre – the lower lower back. Yes, you heard it. My bum is stressed.

By the time I got home I was exhausted and barely able to move; last night I slept restlessly and my muscles squeaked with pain every time I shifted. But today? Today I feel great. My neck is looser. My back is no longer aching. There's just one challenge I need to address before the Boy comes home – and that’s the fact that I have enormous bruises in an unmistakeable handprint walking up my spine from bum to waist.

Er, honey, it was like this…