Sunday, 16 November 2014

no pain no gain

So Mr Ripe and I ran away reluctantly left our darlings for a relaxing night away. Part of our pampering plans was a lovely massage. Are you like me and prepare for a massage? First off - the full dehair. There should be no leg forest for the poor masseuse to have to part in order to reach your lily white skin. Also no tufty scratchy regrowth.
And one must wear demure black undies. When it comes to a massage, I am of the medium pressure camp. Not too firm but I like to know they're there. Mr Ripe prefers his a little softer and is disappointed if he doesn't relax enough to snooze. Unfortunately, my masseuse took pressure to a whole new level. There was definitely a touch of the Mrs Danvers (Faux Fuschia) about her. At one point, as she unleashed her whole body weight onto my lower back, I thought my ovaries might pop out and say hello. I squeaked a little but didn't speak up. I knew it was probably what my tight little shoulder/back needed and pondered the unfairness of tight shoulders rather than tight abs as she pummelled away.

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