(Gaffes Galore, Vortexia) -- By his own admission, my husband Dave has no tact. He’s a wonderful man – talented, warm, and gregarious – but his off-the-cuff comments have made for many, shall we say, “memorable” moments. Usually his slips-of-the tongue are laughable and innocent enough. Sometimes, however, they are mortifying.
While everyone else might be gob smacked by his gaffes, Dave is completely unfazed. In his eyes, he is simply being plain-spoken, straight-forward. I suppose there is an element of virtue to being forth-right. After all, our daughter Rachel says she knows which parent to go to when she wants an honest personal assessment.
It isn’t me.
Rachel, who is very much like her father, recently took the bold step of getting us a gift certificate for a double massage at the Oregon Gardens Resort. It was her way of nudging him into planning something special for our wedding anniversary. Having had several massages in the past, I was greatly appreciative. But Dave, having never had a massage before, was apprehensive.
“Oh, trust me, you’ll love it dad,” Rachel gushed, after he muttered something about how weird it would be to get a massage. “You and mom should do something different for your anniversary this year.”
Feeling the pressure from me -- and now Rachel --for the first time in our marriage, Dave planned a weekend getaway for us. I knew it wasn’t easy for him to put it together, what with the stress of his job and other commitments. I was elated and so proud of him.
We spent the first night of our Anniversary weekend at the
“I’m going to wear my golf shorts,” he informed me, as we prepared to head down to the spa. “I refuse to be naked when I get a massage.”
“What? You don’t have to strip down,” I assured him, humored by his naïveté. “There’s nothing to be nervous about.”
Grudgingly, he complied.
When we arrived at the spa, two uniform-clad women met us, ushering us to a dressing room where they gave us luxurious robes and told us to strip down to whatever we were comfortable with.
“Whatever we’re comfortable with!” scoffed Dave, his face full of foreboding. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
We were then issued slippers and escorted to a waiting room where a woman who had just received a massage was being seated.
“Drink this water,” her masseuse instructed, handing her a bottle. “Go ahead and relax here as long as you want, and when you’re ready you can get dressed.”
The woman, who was in her 60’s, snuggled into her seat, pulled her bathrobe collar up around her neck, tilted her head back and sighed, “That was wonderful.” Then, she rolled her head to one side, opened her eyes, and looked at us. Laughing, she declared, “I look a mess, but I really don’t care.”
Well, her tousled hair did look like she’d just had electric shock therapy. It stood nearly straight on end. Dave anxiously touched the back of his head, no doubt wondering what his hair would like before the hour was over. I returned the woman’s smile and said, “Actually, you look like you’re completely relaxed.”
“Oh, I am,” she replied, running her fingers through her hair. “You know, my favorite part of the massage was when she worked on my scalp.”
She lowered her gaze to the floor near Dave’s slippers and her smile widened. “You can stop tapping your feet,” she said to him. “I take it you’ve never had a massage before?”
Body language. She had read right through him.
Dave stiffened and grunted something in response just as another woman entered the room and sat down. Her face was flushed, her hair wild. She, too, nestled down into her seat and sighed.
“We’re sisters,” they explained to us, noting they met once or twice a year in a location halfway between Seattle and Eugene to do something special together. They both looked at Dave and giggled knowingly.
“Mr. & Mrs. Neumann, you can come with us now.” Our crisp, very professional masseuses guided us to the spa room where two side-by-side massage tables awaited us. They went through their procedures with us, informing us that after they asked us some questions, they would leave. We were to disrobe and lie face-down on the tables with a blanket covering us before they came back in to begin the massage.
‘Is there any part of your body you don’t want touched during the massage?” my masseuse asked me before excusing herself.
“I’d like you to work on my neck, shoulders and upper back,” I said. “That’s where all my tension settles in.” I assumed Dave would take the cue and tell his masseuse what area he needed work on.
Dave’s masseuse asked him the same question. “Is there any part of your body you don’t want touched during your massage?”
In all seriousness, he replied, “My groin area.”
Her eyes widened. I’m sure she was repressing her shock. After all, who in the world would be so unnecessarily blunt? “Why, of course!” she blustered.
Left alone to climb beneath our respective blankets, I hissed, “I can’t believe you really said that, Dave! These are professional masseuses; what are you thinking!?”
“It’s a reasonable request. She asked!”
I knew the only reason Dave was having a massage with me was because our daughter had paid for it. I also knew he was nervous because he had never been in a spa before. But I was determined to enjoy my message, so after the masseuses returned, I put his gaucherie out of my mind and tuned him out.
Less than two minutes into our massage, Dave said, “Teresa! Is she working on your back?”
No reply.
A moment later: “Teresa! This really feels good, doesn’t it?”
No reply.
An hour later, peeling ourselves off the massage table, I looked at Dave. His hair was a mess. His eyes had a far-away look in them. We didn’t say anything as we were escorted into the waiting room to drink some water and regroup. One other man sat in the room, waiting for his massage. I think it might have been his first time, because he looked a little….nervous.
I looked at Dave and he looked at me, smiling.
