Don't Touch My Butt, Please

Aside from getting robbed, assaulted, and yelled at in Shanghai, I had the rare opportunity of getting a full-body massage. Apparently, my aunt whose house we stayed at frequented one massage parlor who could relieve "the most serious tension" that one had. Well, I wasn't one to turn down spa-like treatment, and with a foot massage thrown in for approximately 70RMB (that's about $10 for two hours of human labor), it was a deal that I couldn't refuse. Besides, my mom wanted it so I had no choice but to come along.

Now, the only massage that I've ever experienced is from a Peer Health Educator gripping my shoulder blades in a painful, vice-like grip. We PHEs pretended to teach people how to massage and relieve stress in college, but as we all know, Americans are deathly afraid of bodily contact. In fact, there is a term for this. It is called the "Personal Bubble" and must be observed at all times. In China, however, this idea is laughable. Instead, they follow a different rule, which is: "shove or be shoved." In other words, the only bubbles that you'll be observing are the ones that some little Chinese toddler is blowing into your face on the overcrowded subway. So, as you can imagine, getting massaged in China was an intensely violating experience.

Because I was a young girl (a "xiao gu niang"), they decided to request a female masseuse rather than a male one. One can debate whether it's more awkward to have a guy or girl rubbing your body, but to me, it's pretty uncomfortable either way. The beginning was alright since she started out massaging my neck, back and face. In fact, she spent so long on my back that I thought that was all there was. However, midway through she told me to lie on my stomach and put my face through a hole in the bed so my face wouldn't get squashed (a rather clever innovation, I thought).

All was going well until her hands made their way to my butt. Now, I don't know the protocol for massages, but I didn't realize the butt was a muscle that needed any manual manipulation. After all, it's just made of fat tissue. Although I did sit a lot on the plane, my butt did not cry out for manual relief, and even if it did, I'd probably just sleep it off.

In any case, the butt massage was thankfully short-lived. Once she got to my legs, I felt a little better, but the whole time I was still thinking: "This is such a violating experience. This is such a violating experience." Strangely enough, when we got to the foot soak and massage, my masseuse commented that I was "unusually relaxed" for a first-timer. Hm. I guess I'm really good at faking.