Lady Tired

I stole away the other day to a place I normally avoid at all costs: Opry Mills Outlet Mall. Mega-big, it’s a shop-a-holic’s fall-off-the-wagon binge. For me, it equates to too much stuff, too many people, and too many fluorescent lights; it’s a generic kind of place I feel bad about patronizing. But I have found one small thing this place has to offer that I can find nowhere else in Nashville . . . cheap, convenient, spur of the moment self-care in the form of chair massage.

Yep. That’s what I went for. And that’s why I’ll go again. The Asian guys at the backrub kiosk are pretty darn good at working out double knots and re-aligning kinks. And I’ve felt like I’ve needed some back work for about four months now. But between the havoc the economy is playing on my husband’s psyche and the fact that we are re-doing our master bath, my penance has been to forgo pedicures and massages.

Luckily, it’s penance with an end in sight because I really miss those forms of self-care. My husband might think that it’s just a hormonal excuse for pampering but to me, they are things that not only feel good but make me feel good about myself; I have made myself a priority for that hour, I get to relax, and I come out feeling more centered. In my book, that’s a win-win for everyone.

So there I was, confidently walking into Opry Mills and heading straight for the massage kiosk. And there were three Asian guys – all of whom were working on others so I wandered the mall for fifteen minutes or so and then checked back. A lean, younger looking Asian man said, “Lady, you want?” and pointed to a chair. I think I surprised him when I nodded yes and started to take my seat. He grabbed a laminated price list and asked “Lady want which one?” I pointed to the $30/35 minute one and we were off.

Now, when you want convenience, you don’t get to be picky. So as this guy started, I knew right away that it would be sufficient but not great. I also knew that I needed my back worked on because as he pushed certain muscles in my upper middle back, I could feel the pull at the front of my throat. That’s usually a sure sign that I’ve waited too long. He would say to me periodically, “O.K. Lady?” To which I’d grunt, “Fine” or “Uh-hmmm”. A few times, he did actually hurt me – which didn’t damage me long-term but did make me call him a few names under my breath.

And then, about half way through, I felt my whole body actually relax. Perhaps he’d loosened me up or perhaps I’d simply let go, whatever the reason, he felt it too. He said, “Ohhh, Lady tired.” And I’m chuckling to myself, thinking, “You have no idea guy. No idea.” Lady is tired. My kids aren’t sleeping well, they are waking me up 2-3 times a night, I’m juggling teaching at Vanderbilt, Singing Heart Press, I’m overseeing a bathroom renovation, trying to be a great mom, and a good wife. I’m caretaker to my mom’s condo which has entailed water leaks and a really mean, mad neighbor below, a broken fridge with a rotten damn butternut squash left in it since May (!), and the purchase and delivery of a new mattress and bed. Yea, dude, Lady tired. Lady need to be here. Lady may come ‘gain next week.

He calls me Lady. I call him names. Looks like a match made in heaven. Or at least a match made in a moment that met both our needs. A match my husband doesn’t – and won’t – even know about if it’s up to me. Hey, there could be worse ways to cheat and much worse people with whom to cheat. In this case, what he knows won’t hurt him. And my confession’s here if he chooses to read this. If he does, I might just owe him $35 – it’s a price I’m willing to pay.