Holy Oil

We spent the weekend at the lake, as is the norm during the summer months. The lake house is in Cumming, GA. Yes, I know.  

It's our place to relax and enjoy the simpler things in life.  In other words, I can wear jersey knit braless and eat hot dogs from the package and no one is going to think anything of it.

I have chronic neck and back pain--yet another consequence of the hateful job I had traveling the country with large heavy bags for two years. I was really in a lot of pain so this morning we called around to the local spas looking for an opening, not knowing much about them up here in the woods. After a call to a place where the phones were answered by an Asian woman offering appointments at 9 & 10pm (I am so not kidding), we finally found a neuromuscular therapist working out of a chiropractic office that could see us.

Perfect! Clinical massages tend to do me better than the light-handed swedish variety anyway.

We started the day lounging on the dock and on the floaties in the water, and around 2:30pm I set out for my massage. I drove up to an unassuming building, chiropractor sign indicating I was at the right office, and a kindly woman met me and introduced herself as my massage therapist. I was feeling good about it, especially when she took me to a cool, comfy room and got me ready to begin.

And begin we did. Sunday mass on the massage table.

My first indication this was not going to be an ordinary massage was when she started out with a 3 minute prayer thanking God for allowing her to heal me. Ok. I get it, you love God and that is good. Heal away.

Until she told me that I need to ask God to protect me before yoga class. In case you didn't know, the poses are ways to worship the idols of those beliefs and you certainly do not want to open yourself up to that (whatever "that" is). Better to be forewarned than forsaken--I believe those were the exact words she used.  I could not make this shit up.

As we were nearing the end, I was on my back and she was working the areas of my neck that give me the most trouble--and praying (more like chanting) to God to "rid my affliction" (turns out my job really was a demon that possessed my soul,ok, neck). Being naked and defenseless (not to mention totally freaked the f@&k out) as a demon is called from your muscles is not what one typically expects when going to a massage.  

Well, then. Apparently, in Cumming this is the way of the world.

I believe in God. I just never expected to see him at the spa. Praise Sweet Jesus, and let him bless us with his holy (massage) oil.


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