So at lunch today, Andy and I were talking about our most embarrassing moments. Andy hesitated for a while; he had a story that he had never shared with anybody because it was too horrifying. After much hemming and hawing, he finally told me the Tale of the Back Massage.
Here's the back story (ha!): Andy, former football and basketball star, has a bad back and has been going to see a local chiropractor to try to get himself back in alignment. The chiropractor and his staff are excellent and very knowledgeable and friendly, in spite of the fact that one member of our family who shall remain nameless experienced an attack of flatulence while being manipulated on the table. Anyway, one day Andy's doctor recommended a deep tissue back massage from the on-staff masseuse. Andy had never had a professional massage, but the doctor assured him it would work wonders on the knots in his back.
The doctor left the room and told Andy the masseuse would be in soon.
And that's when things went downhill.
As I said, Andy has never had a professional massage. The only experience he's had with massages is watching Phoebe work on "Friends." So he stood there a minute as the panic set in because he had no idea whether he was supposed to take his clothes off or not.
Now, keep in mind, this is a BACK massage. The masseuse would only be massaging his BACK.
So of course Andy took off his shirt.
And his undershirt.
And his shoes.
And his pants.
Then he laid on the table with a towel covering his threadbare underpants, to which he has a much deeper attachment than he does to me, and he laid there feeling increasingly uncomfortable for several minutes.
He had just decided to put some clothes back on when the masseuse opened the door, brightly said hello, and then caught sight of my poor mostly naked husband crouched on the massage table like a half-hearted exhibitionist. Andy described the pause that followed as "tense." Too embarrassed to explain, Andy just laid back down and the masseuse found her train of thought and started to chat. About halfway through the Massage That Shall Remain In Infamy, Andy blurted out, "Was I supposed to take my clothes off?" The masseuse delicately responded that most people prefer to at least leave their pants on. I'm sure she could see the blush spreading from Andy's cheeks to his other cheeks.
So that's how we both ended up crying with laughter in Zaxby's. Andy has a dentist appointment in a few weeks. I must stress to him the importance of remaining clothed, or he's going to have quite a reputation in the doctor's offices of our town. God forbid he need an eye exam or he may end up in only a thong.
