Your hands are the opposite of 80 grit sandpaper, in fact, they're like sanding sealer - so, so smooth. Your touch, gentle yet firm. Your stance, well over six feet, yet your heritage, oddly, is not Russian. I long for our monthly visit, when I take off most of my clothes and you rub oils all over my body. It's quite intimate, yet incredibly impersonal. I love how you know me so well. Those knots, you know the ones, (that build up from my terribly difficult "work") are sent packing after you take up shop. Oh Roberta, how you pamper me.
There is one thing I want you to know though; yesterday's massage was quite nice, but I felt a bit itchy afterwards. Probably b/c I had to go get some dinner after and I left that crazy oil on my skin for too long. It's nothing personal. It's not like your 30+ cats could have had a 'way to many cats in a single dwelling' dander that somehow stuck to your oh so smooth hands or anything. I just don't like being oily. I mean, if I really think about it, if my life was a movie, you'd probably be in the credits as something like "Second Tall Woman".