Would You Be A Masseur?

Post 355

A massage. The manipulation of superficial and deeper layers of muscle and connective tissue using various techniques, to enhance function, aid in the healing process, decrease muscle reflex activity, inhibit motor-neuron excitability, promote relaxation and well-being, and as a recreational activity. The Latin word for this activity was frictio, which is a magnificent name for a villain, if you’re looking for one. “Oh no! It’s Frictio!” Massage often involves a client lying naked on a bed as you rub your hands over their exposed fleshy areas. I could start up a massage business. ‘Alan’s Frictio Parlour’. Oh, hang on, that makes me sound like a sexual deviant. Hmm. I need a better name. I could legally change it. ‘Jacque’s Frictio Parlour’. Oh wait, that sounds even worse. Ah, well. Never mind, eh?

I would like to point out at this moment that there might be an angry hoard of pitchfork wielding massage folk heading to ram down the door of dear old Jacque. Masseur and masseuse are ancient terms, I know. I’m just using them because 99% of the world didn’t get your memo about the name change and I’m not at all using the old terms as a way to piss you off. I am sincerely sorry. To the rest of the world, they are officially known as licensed massage therapists. They think people don’t know they are licensed therapists. Just people who massage. Well they’re not. They train for many, many years. It’s like Rocky. Except with lubricant oil and furious rubbing. Ooh, that sounded much better in my head…

For some, this is a calling in life. For many, this is the answer to a mid-life crisis. I don’t feel like this is my calling at all. So mid-life crisis it is then. You’d be amazed by how many of them used to be secretaries, office workers, managers, executives, and so forth. I’m not knowledgeable on oil. I’m not a soothing presence. Heck, babies cry when I hold them. Usually when they weren’t crying before. Can’t imagine how a naked adult would react to me touching them. And yes, I may get the occasional supermodel, but most of the time, it’s overweight, hairy, sweaty bank managers. “Ooooh, yes, right there”. ‘Ewww, he’s liking this’.

It’s expensive and most businesses go out of business within a few years. Most LMT’s go on to suffer serious wrist and back conditions, that cripple them most hours of the day and severely hamper their mobility. Oils and candles will make you sick. It’s really hard work. The pay is terrible and you’ll get very few clients. It’s physically demanding and many clients are rude and obnoxious. It’s a specialized skill that only the very few can master.

I don’t want to rub oil on a hairy man’s back for a living. Or worse, a hairy woman’s back. Sigh. It’s just not me. It’s not what I am or what I feel like I can do. I’m just not cut out to be a masseur…

Sorry, sorry… LMT. LMT! Put down your pitchforks! Please! Oh, no!


Toodle-pip :)(:

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Please feel free check out the latest posts from my other two blogs:

The Indelible Life of Me
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