Wait For It… a blog by Andy Ross


Posted on January 7, 2011

Hmm, I wonder if I should tell this masseuse that I’m deathly allergic to lavender? Nah, I bet it’ll be alright.

I mean, he’s a professional, and I’m sure he knows best. If he wanted to learn if I had any allergies, he would've asked. Well, I guess he did ask and I said no. But, a professional would have understood I was just being polite, right?

He’s probably not using lavender anyway. It’s probably shea butter. Shea butter would make sense. Although, my back is starting to get hot and itchy. There might be lavender in the massage oil. Can I be sure of that, though? My wheezing suggests yes.

Maybe it’s just a different massage technique. Maybe he’s only using a little lavender to shock my system into relaxation. Who am I to jump in and tell this guy how to do his job? He’s been giving massages for years. Meanwhile, I’ve only spent the last few minutes receiving my excruciating massage.

Sometimes I wish I weren’t so Midwestern. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? I could speak up about my lavender allergy and he might take me to the ER before I die? Oh, but that would probably put him out. He must have other massage appointments later. I don’t want him to lose any future business. And, he might feel guilty about using lavender in the first place. That settles it; I won’t say anything.

I should say something. I think my motor functions are shutting down.

How do I approach it? Maybe something like, “Hey, funny story. Remember when you asked if I had allergies and I said no? Well, I just automatically say no when I think that’s what people want to hear.” Nah, that sounds too pushy.

Maybe I could ask for a break, and I could quietly sneak out and drive myself to the hospital. That is, if I can keep my eyes from swelling shut. Would my masseuse be offended if I snuck out halfway through a massage? Probably. I’d better not risk it.

I have an idea. Maybe I can text Colleen, and she could call the spa and tell them that I’m allergic to lavender. Then someone at the desk would come back and tell the masseuse. I wonder if all that could happen in the next minute or so. Because, I’m feeling a little woozy. No wait, now I remember seeing a “no cellphones” sign in the lobby. I’d better not text.

You know what? Let’s just ride it out and see where this goes.

Hey, what’s that tunnel of light up ahead? Hi, Grandpa Ross. Long time no see.