Beer & Massage

Massage Therapist: "OH! Did you want me to carry that for you?"

Me: "No, that's OK...I just...uh...well...the liquor store next door was closing at 9PM, and my husband made a special request for hefeweizen beer (and really...he doesn't ask for much, so I kind of have to oblige when he does), and my massage was at 8PM, and I'm running too late to put it in my car, so I I just said 'WHAT THE HECK', and brought it into the massage room with me!"

Massage Therapist: [she clearly didn't know what just hit her. I don't think she was ready for all of the words that I had just catapulted at her] "Ohhhh...what a great wife you are!"

Me: "I'm sorry...too much info? I have this really bad habit of telling far too many details in something that should have been a really simple explanation. I'm a little bit of an over-sharer."

Most of the time, I feel like this...

[although I can't dance even 1/2 as well as her, if that tells you anything].

Welcome to the world of a nervous, nerdy, neurotic over-sharer! Between telling far too many people the story about how you peed your pants as an adult [***cough***a month ago***cough***] (despite the fact that your far more private and sensible husband told you that this is something you should keep to yourself), and telling your massage therapist (a stranger whom you've never met) the full story of why you're walking into Massage Envy carrying a 6-pack of Dutch beer, it'sΒ  like a T.M.I. party all the time over here!

If we ever meet in real life, be prepared. Be very prepared. I talk a lot, and at the end of our 5 minute conversation, you'll know far more about me than you ever wished to know. I promise.

I'm actually getting nervous just re-telling this story. OH THE ANXIETY!

My oversharingness is at least 34 times more pronounced when I'm nervous. Getting massages make me nervous. I understand that they're supposed to relax me and make me feel all great and wonderful, and they really do. WHEN THEY'RE OVER. I feel great when it's all over and I can go home, feeling kind of like a wet noodle.

However, I get very very anxious when I'm on my way to get a massage, and I'm even nervous for the first 5-10 minutes of the actual massage.

What do I do with my hair?

Is my hair stuck in my armpit?

Why does my right boob hurt!

Did my STOMACH just make a noise?

Did HER STOMACH just make a noise?

Am I SWEATING?! OMG...I'm sweating.

Am I too tense? I know she's feeling my muscles are tense...OMG...she knows that I'm tense. I'm so AWKWARD!

I should have got a PEDICURE! My feet look like Hammertime!

Don't rub my feet. OH! Better yet, don't even LOOK at my feet!

So, I ask you...how can something that is supposed to be SO relaxing be SO anxiety-inducing for me?! First dates were easier for me than getting a massage ever has been. The entire time I'm laying there getting my massage, half of me is enjoying it, and the other half of me is obsessing over it.

Last night, when the massage was all over, things got even more awkward.

Massage Therapist: "OK, so this concludes your massage...I'll leave the room so you can get changed, and when you're finished just come outside and I'll be waiting for you outside the door."

Me: "Thank you! Great! Me and my Dutch beer will be right out!"

Massage Therapist: **crickets**

Awkward.

Next time, I'll buy the husband some more Dutch beer before I go in. Next time, I'll drink one of the husband's Dutch beers before I go in.