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    Sunday, May 29, 2005

    Today, I answered one of those questions most men never dared to ask.

    “Would I get a woody if a 60-year-old woman gave me a full body massage?”

    The answer is a firm unyielding definite no. And thank God for that.

    I woke up this morning and decided to hang out with my future girlfriend (she just doesn’t know it yet). At the end of the day, she introduced me to her 60-year-old masseuse who gave me a full 90-minute rub-down. When you think about it, it sounds great but when you actually do it, it hurts like hell.

    This is my second time. Perhaps I am uncomfortable by the fact there is a 60-year-old woman who feels like a 300-pound gorilla, fondling me. I could be mistaken but I swear there was definitely some nut grazing going on. That’s when I came to some conclusions.

    First, I have a very low tolerance for pain. Rub my thigh the wrong way and I squeal like an eight-year-old girl. (Although I am glad to report that my reflexes are in full gear during the nut-graze.) This low tolerance for pain essentially puts me out of the secret agent game and possibly a spot on “Fear Factor.”

    Then there’s the pain itself; the pain of having some pressure point on your body being forcefully rubbed on over and over again. And I am thinking, this is probably one of the very few times a man feels pain on his body which is not caused by disease or bring kicked in the nuts. In other words, apart from something like a heart attack or a stroke, a man can go through much of his life without natural pain to his body. Unlike the woman’s body, which at some point will experience a different and unique kind of pain that is from childbirth. Then the realisation set in that a man’s body is not as strong as a woman’s. But then why are men stronger than women. Oh the conflict.

    But back to the rub-down, it was overall quite good. Some red flags in me did go off when she asked what I do for a living.

    “Errr…I am into computers.”

    And her responded with an interesting question in Indonesian.

    “Why is it when I print my passport, it looks different from the original?”

    Great. Now I could possibly have an illegal 300-pound gorilla disguised as a 60-year-old Indonesian giving out massages.

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