one
"Jon, wake up."
"But it's Saturday…"
"The masseuse is here."
"What masseuse?"
"Your masseuse."
Concerned that I apparently walk crookedly, my mother asked her friend's masseuse to visit our house and fix me.
Still groggy, I stripped to my boxers and plopped face down on a massage table set up in our dining room.
The masseuse concluded that my lower right back muscles were too taut.
He slathered my lower back in a gel. I awaited his magic touch.
Instead, I heard him open a plastic baggie.
"What are you doing?"
"Relax…"
"Ow."
Acupuncture.
Three needles in my lower right back, one in my upper ass.
As I lay pretty much naked in our dining room looking like a giant prepubescent porcupine, the masseuse and my mother sat on either side of me debating whether one of my legs is shorter than the other.
two
Ding!
A half-hour later, the actual back massage began.
To say the masseuse applied oil liberally is an understatement. I felt like he was preparing to stick me up someone's ass.
I soon realized how uncomfortable it is to rest your face on a padded toilet seat for an extended period of time.
I'm used to puke-and-runs.
three
Saturday evening, I had dinner with relatives at Chef Chu's.
On my way to the men's room after locating our table, Larry — Chef Chu's oldest son and the restaurant manager — approached me.
"Jon Yu! I finally get to discuss your infamous blog with you."
"Shit," I thought. "Did I write anything disparaging?"
"I googled 'Chef Chu's' and found your blog."
"Cool…"
I feigned mirth and kept walking crookedly toward the restrooms.
I avoided Larry for the rest of the night.