This must be my week to write about unusual people because I've sure been meeting a lot of them lately. This is the second in what will be three "unusual people" stories this week. The third one will publish on Thursday. After that, I'm hoping to meet some nice normal folks!
I went for a massage at a day spa the other day. This isn't something I do on a regular basis. In fact, I haven't had a massage for at least a few years. My last trip to a spa was pre-car accident and even then I only went because someone gave me a gift certificate. I know people who get massages weekly and I admire and respect their ability to take that time to relax. I always feel too guilty if I am pampering myself. Of course, in this case the purpose of the massage was not for relaxation but for therapuetic purposes on my post-surgery body.
I was laying there naked, but draped in a sheet when Logan entered the room. There was an immediate dilemma. I couldn't tell if Logan was male or female. Logan looked like a man, but had the voice of a female. Logan was very … um, fat. Were those breasts or man-tits? I have never met a more androgynous person. I didn't care if Logan was male or female (or both?), but it would make conversation a little easier if I knew. Initially I thought Logan was male, but taking female hormones. I later decided that Logan must be female, but extremely masculine. (Basically, I still don't know what Logan is!)
Logan informed me she (?) (what is the correct pronoun for a transgender person?) was new to this particular spa. Within minutes the vibes in the room just didn't feel right. I am not a massage expert but I've had a few over my lifetime and I have never felt so uncomfortable. Logan must have lifted and "readjusted" the sheet covering my breasts several times. And no, it was not my imagination, she (?) was outright ogling my chest. O-G-L-I-N-G … as in having her eyes glued to my breasts. OK, I am in my forties … why would anyone want to see them? Surely twenty year old boobs are much more perky?
I decided a conversation about Briefcase might be in order and I started prattling on. See Logan? See the wedding ring? Listen Logan .. hear me talk about Briefcase. Look Logan … watch me re-covering my boobs with the sheet after you keep "accidentally"pulling it off of them. Could I have made it any more clear that I am a married woman who is not interested in Androgynous Logan?
Logan's primary focus was supposed to be on my shoulder and non-functioning arm. All those muscles no longer work post-car accident. So why then did Logan's hand keep "accidently" brushing against my (naked) boob? Not once, or twice … but repeatedly?
I tried all sorts of subtle methods of communicating my displeasure to Logan, but subtly was not working. Finally, after one too many accidental tit touches I said, "We're done." Logan replied, "No, we have another fifteen minutes." I looked Logan in the eyes and said quite firmly, "No, we are done NOW!" She (?) stepped back, flushed, and left the room. I got dressed and as I departed the spa manager asked me if I enjoyed my massage."
"Androgynous Logan is a tit toucher!"