the massage that came 4.5 hours early

the nice thing about being in a third world country is that there are some things in life that comes really cheap back here. 

take going to a spa for a massage, for example.  david often said it does not come affordable back where he comes from.  perhaps, that is the reason why the ex-girlfriends were very good of giving personal ones.  whereas, a quick interview of all the guys i’ve dated would tell you the same thing: my hands are good for something else.  how reliable it might be for pressing the keyboard or washing the dishes, the pair is useless when it comes to giving proper massages. 

 oh, well, obviously, they couldn’t be all that lucky.

 there is a massage spa that i frequent, and by frequent i meant twice a month.  if i was rich enough, i wouldn’t mind visiting it every week.  but then, it would become nothing more but a routine.  and i do not like routine.  this spa, quite conveniently, is situated just across my office building.  not many people are aware of it so i always end up having the steam room all for myself all the time.

it was thursday, right after work, that i decided to drop by.  vangie, my favorite masseuse, was ready and welcoming when i arrived: i, all worn out and tired despite of being totally unproductive at work the entire week.  the 2-hour swedish/shiatsu massage was welcomed by my body in glorified surrender that i doze off, as i always did, the entire appointment. 

i couldn’t wait to get home.

taxi cabs were easy to secure, that day not being friday.  right after the massage, i hopped into the first cab i saw and was looking forward to crashing my bed i was not able to entertain any other thought.  maybe in the future, there would be a massage parlor that allows you to sleep as long as you want right after the service was done.  but for the present, i didnt mind the journey back home.

not until i realized that i didnt have a key to the apartment (because dani lost it while he was busy snogging his exgirlfriend in a hotel room a few days back) and i couldn’t call my sister because my mobile phone’s battery was empty and nobody was bloody home to open the door for me.

it wasn’t fair.  but then, if everything in life is, what would we all be writing about?


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