Peachy

Peter and I have become quite fond of getting massages for very cheap prices during this past year. I'm sure we've had upwards of a baker's dozen: Thai massages, oil massages, foot massages, sandy beach massages, and the latest- Vietnamese massages. They're always hit-or-miss, and I've become a great judge of what the next 60 minutes will be like upon the initial touch of these small Southeast Asian women's hands.

Tonight, after a long day exploring Hanoi on foot, and after a delicious meal had settled in our tummies, Peter and I headed for the nearest spa. The costs usually range between 3 and 9 US Dollars. This one was the equivalent of $6, and worth every Dong.

The tiny woman from Van Xuan Massage Parlour may have pushed and pulled and twisted every sinew of my neck,
she may have pounded, smashed, individually punched each of my vertibrae,
she may have mercilessly dug her tiny thumbs into each gap in my ribcage,
she may have chatted quietly to her friend and turned on Whitney Houston,
she may have spanked, stretched, and snakebited every inch of my skin,
she may have beaten and bruised me to the core,
but she left me writhing in the good kind of pain, her hands smelled like peaches, and I will never forget her.