Language

Languages are beautiful.

I spent over six years studying Spanish and I have a desire to learn Italian and French. I love and respect all of the many languages of the world.

With that being said, it is also imperative I point out how important good communication is between two parties. When two people do not speak the same language it is difficult to have good communication.

Good communication is especially important when you are lying naked and vulnerable on a massage table and the masseuse has no idea what you are saying. And…that masseuse has torture devices as fingers.

If you thought I was going to go into something profound about the history of language or something you would be wrong. I am here merely to tell you about an encounter I had on my birthday.

My husband got me a gift and as you can tell it was a trip to get a massage. It was a local place near us. I had been there before and rather enjoyed myself. Why wouldn’t I go again?

This time they hired someone new or she was new to me. I noticed when I came in to pay she didn’t speak English very well. She was a short Asian lady with short dark hair. As I said before, I only studied Spanish in school so I knew we had a slight hiccup.

I shrugged it off and thought, I don’t like to talk when I am getting a massage and what she has to do shouldn’t require much talking on her part so we should be ok. I went into the room and stripped down to my underwear. I got on the table, placed the sheet on me and laid on my chest making sure I left my back exposed.

She entered after and started some music. The soft sound of the waves crashing into the sandy beaches played through the speakers. It was a calming and relaxing sound and I settled in, anticipating a nice relaxing massage.

Then it began.

She began to knead me like I was dough and she wanted to reshape me into something else. I winced in pain as she focused on my upper back. I didn’t say anything at first. I thought, maybe it will get better. There could be some kinks she needs to get out.

Suddenly she did a move on my back that sent sharp pains throughout my body and that was enough.

I sat up.

“Stop! Stop!” I said.

She froze.

“Softer, please!”

She looked confused eyes wide.

I took a deep breath.

“Please, a little softer.”

She nodded.

Then the torture began again. Just a tiny, tiny bit softer.

“Please, softer.” I said trying not to sound too mean.

“It’s okay?” she asked.

No, it wasn’t okay, but I didn’t know what to do. I was already naked, the fee had been paid and I knew she couldn’t understand what I was saying.

“Yes, it’s okay,” I answered and lay back on the bed.

When the painful massage was over, she left room to let me dress. I started to redress thinking I’m going to need a massage to make me feel better about the massage I just had. Suddenly I heard a knock on the door.

“I’m not ready,” I said standing in only my pants and bra.

Of course she doesn’t understand me because she can’t speak English very well. So, she just walks right in and begins clearing the sheets off the table.

I sighed, dressed and exited. I left her a tip anyway.  If leaving me battered and bruised was what I had wanted…she did an amazing job.

So, that was my story about language barriers and how I ended up with a sore back the morning after my birthday.