Meatballs

Hey Kids.

Meatballs is my new love.

I call him Meatballs because he really digs spaghetti and meatballs…and because “Meatballs” is an awesome Ivan Reitman movie starring Bill Murray.   Meatballs is an adventurer with a great sense of humour and zest for life.  He read Talking Burrito and didn’t break up with me, so that’s good.  He also has two cats.  I guess nobody is perfect.

Meatballs and I were at Pork Sausage’s wedding in Santa Barbara recently and decided to cash in on a couples massage gift certificate she had given me for my birthday a few weeks earlier.    I was slammed with bridesmaid stuff, so Meatballs made the appointment.  He got a deep tissue for himself and a swedish for me.   I thought this was a little odd as the point of a couples massage is to be relaxed and feel-good together, but he’s a hoss so I figured don’t question the man.

When the masseuses arrived at our hotel room I noticed that one was considerably larger than the other and when I say considerably larger I mean she was at least 6’5″ and had hands the size of frying pans.

“Meatballs,” the large one barked in a baritone voice.  “I’m Victoria.”  She smiled demonically then announced “You’re with me.”

He climbed under the covers with slight hesitancy which ended up being an accurate internal instinct because 10 minutes later I was getting lavender oil gently rubbed into my shoulders by a delicate Asian woman and he was getting body slammed into a neck pillow by Jaws from James Bond.

“Just when you thought you could relax,” she cackled.  Not what you want to hear from your masseuse.  Then I heard something pop and the muffled silence of Meatballs trying not to ruin my swedish moment by screaming in pain.

Over the next 40 minutes Victoria would punctuate that silence with masochistic phrases like “Do you hate me yet?” and “Hurts so good, doesn’t it?” then there was my personal favorite  “You’re going to be walking funny all afternoon.”

When our time was up and Victoria had finally left, I turned to Meatballs and asked him point blank if he’d ever had a deep tissue massage before.  He hadn’t.

“I’m in so much pain right now,”  he said remorsefully and with a lilt in his step (she wasn’t kidding).  “I kept looking over at you and you had lotion and she was doing gentle circular rubbing things with her elbow.  It looked so nice.”

“Ah Meatballs, I didn’t realize you had never had a deep tissue massage before.  I would have warned you.”

“I wish you had.”

“Well now you know.”

I think the lesson here is if your massuse looks like Richard Kiel you might want to reschedule.  Just a thought.

BURRITO


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