Dear Prude[nce].

Apparently 2011 brought along some unexpected twists. Unfortunately, I'm not referring to winning the lottery or being (surprise!) pregnant, because neither of those have happened. Nope, nothing quite that awesome. However, it did bring me somewhere I never thought I'd be: lying on top of a massage table, sans much of my clothing. Yes, my friends: the girl who has spent her entire life being beyond creeped out by massages, got a massage today.

Now, don't be deceived: I did not pay for it. Well, scratch that. I did pay for it -- but not really by choice, in a sense. I've been a faithful gym goer for the past year and have piggybacked on my husband's University wellness center account each semester for pretty cheap. However, due to convenience (or lack there-of), I opted out of that gym and joined another, women-exclusive club that is within a 2-mile radius of both school and my apartment. Hooray for sanity and a few extra hours of time in my classroom every single week! Anyway, along with sanity and being married to my third graders, this new all-woman locale came with a hefty price tag. Well, hefty to this cheapskate, anyway. I signed up for an 18-month contract and it's costing me $39.00/month (minus my "thanks for going to the gym 12 times/month" credit).

Unfortunately, there was a teeny-tiny surprise that came alongside that monthly fee: a $100.00 "kickstart" fee (which, by the by, I was told was optional when I first came and toured the place. Turns out, it's not optional. When I mentioned I was given bad information, they offered to let me split the sum into three separate payments. Laaame. Where's the customer service?) Regardless, like a sucker... I paid it. And it came with a variety of items I really didn't need: a canvas tote that sports the name of their gym (to add to my 8,000 other totes I already own and don't need); a water bottle (again, to add to my 12 I already don't use); a date with a nutritionist and a fitness specialist; and finally, the perk that landed me on a masseuse's table today: a 30-minute massage.

Excuse me while I cringe and/or vomit.

See, massages have always rubbed me the wrong way (sorry for the pun. It seriously wasn't intentional, I kind of hate puns). In high school some kids liked to give/receive them (I think it was a band/choir geek thing) but I never got into that whole bit. It always weirded me out. Anyway, I'd paid $100.00 for this massage today, so I figured I'd better get my share.

Oddly enough, my masseuse shared my same name but spelled it in a quirky fashion. I abide by the general rule of thumb that you can't trust anyone with two first names... or with an extra-quirky spelling. She first asked me where I wanted my massage to be focused: my scalp? Neck? Upper back? Face?

Uh, face? You mean you can massage someone's face? Who knew! And thanks, but no thanks.

She left the room so I could crawl under the puffy, snow-white, down comforter -- and that's when the best part happened: it was a heated massage table. Yes, heated. This may not sound like much to anyone who isn't living in my region at the moment, but this morning it was -23 degrees Fahrenheit. So heated bed? I think, yes. This alone was worth the $100.00! Well, not really. But I'll just keep telling myself that.

It was also at that moment I noticed she had this Chineseish music playing the background. Thank you, masseuse, for making me feel all cultural-like as I wait under these covers awkwardly, semi-disrobed for you to walk in the door.

I'm not going to lie: I'm definitely a semi-prude, so this was quite possibly the most nerve-wracking thing I've done. I'd put it right up there with walking down the aisle at my wedding or being at the highest point on the Wild Thing at Valleyfair.

Okay, so I'm completely exaggerating. But I would be lying if I said I didn't think about slipping out the back door.

But I didn't. And I survived. But I don't think I calmed down once during the whole thing. Especially at the point when she was giving me a neck massage and she put two of her fingers where my skull meets my neck. For one thing, it was extremely painful. And another, I began to seriously wonder whether or not her fingers would puncture that area and I'd be found dead in this back room by the police. Apparently I've watched too much gruesome CSI, because I don't think that's a normal thing to think of.

She also used oils and got them in my hair. Good thing I'm on schedule to shower and wash my hair tomorrow morning, otherwise I probably would have been semi-distraught (yes, I have a hair washing schedule that I strictly adhere to. And yes, I only wash my hair a few days a week. Don't be hatin'!).

Eventually, I was asked to flip over and lie on my stomach and put my head through one of those circle pillow deals that you see on all massage tables. My face got all smashed and contorted and all I could think of was how my face would look smashed up like that. Seriously, that's pretty much what I thought about the whole time.

And before I knew it, my half-hour of thinking about CSI, smashed faces and gross massage oils in my hair was up. And after a semi-stressful first day back at school with kiddos in my room after the long weekend, I can honestly say that I didn't feel really all that "de-stressed" from the experience. Of course, it probably didn't help at all that I didn't once let my mind drift off into China with that cultural music she had going on. Regardless, I don't think I'll ever find myself lying on a masseuse's table again. Yoga and pilates are a way better 'relaxer' for this lady.

Not to mention, I'll probably save up the money I could spend on getting massages and buy a heated bed of my own instead for -25 degree nights like tonight...