Foot

January 25, 2005. The day I turned a foot masseuse.

The foot massage I had yesterday managed to evoke some sweet yet sour memories in me. And it wasn't the only incident these days.

In one of the malls I visited during this trip, I walked past a L'Occitane shop and decided to take a look inside. I love the rich sweet-smelling stuff they sell, but I can always never afford anything more than that little tin of shea butter I keep in my pocket all the time.

I was browsing from wall to wall, picking up bottles to smell and feel, deliberating any impulse buy. And then, I reached the 'Foot' wall. Where all the foot creams sit. That familiar tube of foot massage cream was right up there.

The one I bought is still sitting on my own shelf, never been touched again since that night.

Last night, while detoxing my wallet, I saw the L'Occitnane 'VIP' card, on which you earn one 'VIP' chop for every freakin' sixty bucks spent. I managed to earn one chop that night alone. The foot massage cream, together with some foot bathsalts and an aromatherapy oil-scented candle, cost me almost eighty bucks. See, I was determined to make it a real good soothing session for the then-man that night.

I still only have that one chop on the card. I never bought anything else from the shop again.

The stuff I bought are all still as good as new.


*****

I remember the then-man had just had some basketball session that night. It must've been just a training session, else I wouldn't have had time in town to shop for the tools. I even bought a book from Borders - a quick dummy guide to massages, complete with step-by-step photographs.

We met again after his basketball. He was complaining again of aches and soreness in the legs and I made him shower immediately. It was meant to be a surprise.

I remember he broke into a grin when I turned down the lights, lit the scented candle and brought in that heavy tub of hot water into the room. It was meant to soak his huge feet in, so I had to use the big bulky bathtub in the bathroom.

It took me more than an hour and I probably hadn't had the skills of the girl who massaged my feet last night, but I supposed I put in the best effort I could to make it as pleasurable as possible.

I never knew if he really enjoyed the massage. He fell asleep in the midst of it, and never woke till the next morning.

I finished up the job, cleaned up the mess, blew out the candles and rested myself. Just a job done.


*****

Do I feel under-appreciated? Do I feel like love wasted? Do I feel forgotten?

Yes.