Shoot the Massager

15 Jun

I found out I was pregnant on my birthday and on that day a good friend, as a present, bought me a back and shoulder massage and a facial. Perfect timing! I know I’m not massively big yet and don’t have any of the aches and pains that will come with the later trimesters, but even the word massage makes me close my eyes, smell lavender and get an overwhelming urge to fall asleep.   They are quite possibly my favourite thing in the whole world. If I was rich I would get one every day.

Ever since she gave it to me I’ve been so excited. Our plan was to take an afternoon off work, go and have some lunch and then head down to the spa for our treatments and our free glass of bubbly. Well, bubbly for her, apple juice for me.  Not fair.

So in we go, full from lunch and slightly sleepy after our stroll down Park Lane. Both more than ready for our massage. We’re in a double room which is fine. We went travelling together. I’ve seen her boobs before. She however has not seen since since I’ve been with child. “Oh my god, look at your boobs” she giggles gawping at them. “Oh you mean the Alps. Delightful aren’t they”?  She’s so used to my little bee stings, I swear she’s looking at me wondering if I’ve been eaten by Dolly Parton.

Just before we’re about to start my friend asks if I should tell them I’m pregnant. I hadn’t even thought about it. It shouldn’t make a difference should it?  I know as you get bigger a ‘normal’ massage will become difficult with the ever growing tummy, but without even a tiny bump to speak of (apart from Ben & Nevis on my chest), I would have thought at 9 weeks I’d be fine. It’s also on my head, back and shoulders. Not anywhere near my stomach!

“Oh no, sorry love, we don’t do massage if you’s are pregnant. You have to have a special pregnancy massage, but we don’t do ‘em. You can still have a facial, but do you want a manicure instead”?  No I do not want an effing manicure. I want what I’ve been daydreaming about for 2 months you stupid girl. I know it’s not her fault, but I’m hormonal. “But I’m fine” I say, “Honestly I really don’t see a problem with being massaged. I’m so early, surely its fine?”. “Them’s the rules love, sorry”. Time is standing still. Best friend is looking at me with such guilt in her eyes whilst I’m wondering what will happen if I tie the therapist down, threaten to hurt her and promise only to untie her if she performs my massage. “Sorry, says friend, it’s my fault, I shouldn’t have said anything”. It’s a good thing I love her so much.

As we both lie down on our tables, I’m giving her evils out of the corner of my eye as she gets “the best massage she’s ever had” whilst I’m getting a 2 min stroke on my hands and feet. A happy ending it was not.  As we leave we get offered the bubbly, or in my case an apple juice. Friend takes a sip of her ‘champers’ and looks like she might vomit “this is not good bubbly” she says. I happily glug my delicious apple juice as it’s her turn to give me evils. Swings and roundabouts.

Before we head home we go for coffee. She insists on buying me cake, she’s clearly still feeling unnecessarily guilty about telling on the lady with the baby. She really shouldn’t. I’ve had the best day and I’d swap a massage any day for quality time with my best girl and free cake.


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