"Jon, wake up."
"But it's Saturday…"
"The masseuse is here."
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?"
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.
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.
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."
I feigned mirth and kept walking crookedly toward the restrooms.
I avoided Larry for the rest of the night.