No Massage Please

She is super, she says. After I leave there, I feel great! This is my friend Louise who is trying to convince me to sign up for a massage. I suspect if she gets a friend to sign up, she will win a pony or something. I had a massage once, I say. The woman was rough. I was screaming in agony. Kip is not like that, she says. She is wonderful! You would love her massages. She put her thumb out on my back, I tell her. From pressing too hard. Kip is gentle, she says. Really gentle. You would have to kill me and drag my dead body to her table, I reply in the loveliest way. I am not kidding, she says. She makes me feel great. Do you want me to make you an appointment? I look at the bag of candy I am eating. Only 65 calories for a mini-Almond joy, I say. Not bad. She looks up from her vegetable burger. Only 65 calories for what? An Almond joy. She takes another bite of her flat ugly unappetizing vegetable burger. Back to my masseuse, she says. I really would like to make an appointment for you. I would rather jump off a cliff into a vat of wild boars who have not had lunch, I say. She really is terrific, Louise says. You owe it to yourself to try it. I owe it to myself to find a different lunch partner is what I am thinking.