Thinking about that robe got me thinking about all kinds of awesome embarrassing massage stories.
For example, one of my obsessions in life is blackheads. I have often been accused of not paying attention to someone, because I am actually staring at their blackheads and dreaming of extracting them. I spend about 15 minutes in the mirror every morning and every night pinching everything on my face. I pinch the backs of my arms whenever I am sitting down, like at work or at meetings. So it was a natural career choice for me to go into massage.
I had lots of older clients who had awesome monster blackheads on their backs and using massage oil, I could usually ease the stuff out without anybody being the wiser. This is disgusting and embarrassing to admit, but I would sometimes put the awesome extractions on my little massage shelf so I could look at them later. ICK I am so gross!
Anyway, one day I had a client who just so happened to be the Chief of the Fort Frances tribe of Native Americans. He had a huge rock lump volcano crusty black head on his right shoulder. I massaged it, and massaged it. It was nowhere near a muscle. I must have worked on it for quite some time, because pretty soon the Chief goes, "What? Do I have a blackhead?"
I was mortified. No one had ever busted me before this! I recoiled in horror. And all I could muster in response was, "What's a blackhead?"