The Dirt Field

This past Saturday afternoon, a very kind friend sent me to a local spa for a professional massage. The whole experience was incredibly relaxing and enjoyable, save for my ridiculous urge to exclaim, “Don’t break them!” when the woman started to massage my toes. I know it sounds crazy, but whenever somebody rubs my feet, I always feel as if they are moments from snapping one of my toes. This massage, although given by an experienced and gentle woman who could not have been more professional, was no different.

I know such a warning is unnecessary, as it is exceptionally unlikely that the masseuse would ever do such a thing. First and foremost, fracturing a client’s bone would probably decrease from the overall enjoyment of the massage, and therefore any reputable masseuse would willingly choose to avoid such an uncomfortable situation. But second, the breaking of an appendage would most certainly pose some sort of liability for a salon, and therefore masseuses are probably strongly encouraged to use due care.

But that doesn’t really help me feel any better. I have long toes and when somebody holds one of them, be it pedicurist, a masseuse, or my own mother, I feel the compelling need to request that they not break it. If you had toes that were as gangly and fragile as mine, you’d be cautious as well. But then again, if you had toes as gangly and fragile as mine, you’d probably have the good sense to keep them well-hidden from the world and not put them in the hands of poor, unsuspecting individuals.