Another Bangz Massage

Last night I went back to Bangz, the salon/spa in Montclair that gives maternity massages. This time I had Renee, and while she was a little rougher than Lisette, I was able to relax more quickly with Renee since I knew what to expect. All in all it was a WONDERFUL massage, with one exception – right towards the end of it I was laying on one side and all of a sudden I got REALLY bad heartburn and a bit of fluid came up my throat. What could I do? I’m half in a coma and I’m certainly not going to stop the massage with 10 minutes to go and say, “Uh, can I spit some bile in your sink?” So I swallowed it down and chanted in my head, “I will not throw up,” over and over.

Pregnancy and Its Hidden Glamour. Kind of makes you wish you were me right now, aye?

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  1. How strange that we share that same exact chant. I remember as a young lad with incense filling my nostrils how I would clasp my hands in prayer and repeat the same words. You don’t have to be pregnant to relish in the power of that mantra.

    I was an alter boy and funeral services made me sick. Imagine the spectacle if I sprayed bile on poor old Edna’s [or enter the name of prudishly deceased here] casket or on her distinguished guests. Surely enough to make baby Jesus cry (or giggle depending on how long it’s been since he was last fed).

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