Tuesday, September 26, 2006

Sexual molestation 101

I have really enjoyed my massage therapy classes so far. The more I study and practice, the more I believe I have made a great move for myself and my family. Just the fact that I will never work in a cubicle again makes it worthwhile.

But as with all things in life, it has its draw backs. Today, I think the biggest draw back was having my inner -- INNER -- thigh rubbed by a 60-year old woman.

I know what you're saying, "if rubbing you is wrong, I don't want to be right." But it was sooo wrong that I had to leave the room and eat two cheese sticks to calm myself after it was over.

Let me clarify, she wasn't molesting me for the heck of it. She's trying to learn an hour-and-a-half routine that involves massaging the legs. It's a great routine that feels fabulous for the end user -- when done correctly.

I knew I was in trouble the minute I sat down next to her and she told me that I parted my hair wrong. It's naturally curly, it parts however the hell it wants. And I dyed my hair wrong. Well no shit, Sherlock. Purple wasn't my first choice.

Later, she told me that on of my classmates and friend wasn't getting enough oxygen to her face. What the fuck does that mean? It's exposed to oxygen all day. How the hell do you get more than that?

Let's get back to the main issue at hand, How I Was Molested. This part of the routine includes the quadracep muscles which are on the thigh. Her hand got a little carried away. Eventually, after having me squeeze my legs together a few times, she said, "Well, where the hell is it? It looks like it should be further up!"

I replied with a tart, "I have shorter legs! It's right here!" And for the rest of the massage, I kept my hand firmly placed on my groin so she wouldn't mistake it for the top of my thigh again.

She's not adept at following the routine anyway, which is required to pass the class. And constructive criticism is not welcome. So I bit my lip, and imagined all the sessions with my therapist that would result from the trauma.

After class, my instructor, who apparently noticed the hand-on-groin pose, asked me how it went. I told her that next class I was goint to schedule my gyno and rectal exam instead.

If I'm going to get groped, I at least want it to be with my hot OB doctor with a picture of Antonio Banderas on the ceiling above me.

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

Holy crap, you are killing me. This is some good stuff, reminds me of a great episode of Will & Grace. Still need to see that new do.
Laughing in Union,
Jenny

Alan said...

(In bad Asian accent) “You want happy ending?”

Seriously, Periwinkle, I gotta agree with Jenny. This is f'in' hilarious.

Anonymous said...

This was hilarious! I wish my life was as interesting as yours sometimes. I'm all wit dat not sitting in a cubicle ever again. Maybe you should look into investing in a cup while you are in school? You would probably feel less violated if someone groped you again.