Spa(stic massage) Day

As you know, Tiffany and I celebrated our seventh anniversary a couple of weekends ago in Calistoga. Because most of our regular weekends involve doing too much (see here and here and here), we decided to do almost nothing. In fact, the only scheduling we succumbed to was a bit of pampering--a couple's massage.

On Saturday--the day of the much-anticipated massage--we slept in (til 7) and had breakfast in bed. We went for a 10-mile run (but leisurely!) and then ate a second breakfast (in a restaurant). We walked extra slow back to the hotel, changed into our swimsuits and then sat in the hot tub until it was time for our massages.

And here's where our shared experience stops.

I had an awesome massage with actual massaging.

Tiffany was an instrument in a percussion experiment.

A few minutes into our hour, as my masseuse was working out the knots in my lower back, I heard:

BUDUM-BUDUM-BUDUM-BUDUM-BUDUM-BUDUM-BUDUM.

I couldn't look over, but it sounded like Tiffany's knots were being drummed to death.

I smiled into the hole of my headrest.

Later, when my masseuse, moved onto my hamstrings and calves, Tiffany's continued drumming, with what sounded to be a slight change in technique. Like, intead of her palms, she was using her fingers... as castanets:

PIT-PAT-PIT-PAT-PIT-PAT-PIT-PAT-PIT-PAT-PIT-PAT-PIT-PAT.

Even Tiffany's finale was drum-based. My masseuse finished off with my favorite part--a head rub. Tiffany's finished off exactly how she spent most of the hour--pounding away on either side of my partner's spine.

When our masseuses left the room, I waited until the door shut to burst out laughing.

"How do you feel?" I called, rising up from under my sheets.

Tiffany glared at me.

"Like a bongo."