all of which brings us to a point where i- a girl who can no longer make it through an hour-long church service without hunching forward in an agony that has thrice been mistaken for spiritual fervor- am facing the pair of 9-hour plane rides in my future with a dread similar to that with which many approach the dentist.
but i'm a strong, independent woman. strong, independent women take control! they do something! they act! so, of course, i did what any strong, independent woman would do. i went out and got a massage.
when i called for an appointment, they didn't ask if i wanted a man or a woman. i don't know what i would have said if they had. in the end what i wound up with was a man, a 30-minute massage and a back that no longer feels like a dart board.
which is a very very lovely thing that nonetheless raises one frightful truth.
i am a 28-year-old single girl and i just paid a man to touch me.