Recently I have been under an unusually high level of stress. Obviously.
The morning after Arte Agave, I woke up not hungover, but sore.
(Pics are below, by the way. Of Arte Agave; not me sleeping in a heap. Some things are private.)
I went to Yelp wondering “can an achy girl get a last minute massage in the neighborhood without spending lots of moola?” The answer was yes.
I’m always leery of cheaping out too much (read this if you don’t know why). My goal was a no-frills massage, paying a fair price without springing for a Bliss Spa-level experience.
Fortunately I found Pure Qi. Within an hour, a sweet-but-strong Chinese woman had begun kneading my sore muscles–and also pulled my underpants down below my hips, exposing my tush. And she left me that way for at least half of my 60 minute/$60 massage.
Perhaps we had a cultural misunderstanding. I decided to just go with it.
To be clear, I was not being a prude. There was a sign on the wall telling customers to keep “bottom undergarments” on. I assume this was to scare off anyone looking for a happy ending.
The promised pics.