The other day I had a weird encounter with the last guy to give me a massage...no, it wasn't the husband. It was strange because, as we were both looking over produce at the grocery store, I sat there thinking, "I paid you to touch me...and you don't even remember it. Didn't it mean anything? I mean, I shaved. I don't shave except on Sunday for church. That was a big deal. And nothing? Nothing?"
Then again, it would have been weird if he had looked at me and said, "Hey Kate, how is that lower back, that I massaged with warm oils, feeling now?"
Yep, after a second thought, I'm glad we both acted like professionals.