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August 16, 2006
Massage Therapy: Soviet-Style
I just returned from an hour-long massage/beating at a Russian spa in town (part of the twelve days of gifts that Jake left in his wake). And let's just say: I'm glad I wore my diaphragm. Adjective-wise, "thorough" does not do this experience justice. En los otros palabras: the man readjusted my thong to more effectively and deeply rub my cheeks! My personal cheeks! Thank God I was facedown at that point as I think my expression was hovering somewhere between profound mortification and outsized glee, and I'm sure there was an arched brow in there too. Perhaps...oh, say something like this (minus the bourbon...and the clothing). But after...oh...five to ten minutes of приклад-kneading, I reached a new level of comfort with the situation. Thus, when it came time to flip over on my back, I just gave up trying to use the cocktail napkin-sized "cover up" and let my bazoomers fly.
You heard me.
They flew. Like eagles.
Like proud, proud eagles.
I will say this: that was the best - and hardest - massage I've ever gotten. Bar nyet. And Lord knows that ain't my first time 'round the bloc.
Yay Russians! I take back everything bad I ever intimated about mayonnaise-based cuisine. Seriously. It's delicious. Mmmmm, cold mayo and beets! Together! In a Thanksgiving melange! YUM !
Posted by Bree at August 16, 2006 04:36 PM
Comments
LOL! Da, ya skazal LOL. Deal with it.
Posted by: Matt Neely at August 17, 2006 12:48 PM