Date Night

The deceptively strong middle-aged Asian man held me face down with both of his vice-like hands tightly squeezing the sides of my throat. I saw stars behind my firmly shut eyes and I stifled the desire to yell for help, if only to deny the man the knowledge of how much pain I was in. For a moment I thought about my wife and kids, trying to remember what they wore that morning. He let go of my throat only long enough to then press one of his feet deeply into my back, his bony heel digging into my side. I could feel him reach to hold onto the wall while he adjusted his footing to lean right into my spine. He switched feet to do it again, and then with an involuntary gasp I felt my ribcage flatten under both his feet, his entire weight balancing on my back. He went on to use his elbows and knees to inflict more pain into other areas of my body and just when I started to actually believe this man was trying to kill me, I heard an alarm go off.

"Time go by so fast, sir."

"Mm hmm.." I answered.

"Maybe next time you take more time? Your muscles too strong."

"Mm hmm" was really the only answer I was capable of at the time. I lay still for a few minutes, actually unable to move. My wife on the massage table right next to mine asked me if I was ok.

"Mm hmm."

As we left one of our favorite Back and Foot Rub (that was actually the name of the place) spots in Little Italy, I asked Bobby how much he weighed.

"About 200 pounds sir."

"Hmm…(Jesus...I thought). Felt good!" I sorta lied.

Although a small part of me still thought Bobby was indeed trying to destroy me and simply ran out of time, I was already grateful for his particularly strong hands which I swear sometimes felt as if he were using only to push hidden blunt instruments of torture into my flesh. Everywhere this man put his hands on me he managed to generate a sharp, penetrating pain; the tips of my toes, the topside of my feet, my calves, what I think was my gall bladder. It is a pain, however, that eventually opened the door to deeply relaxed muscles. Nothing like a deep tissue massage from a guy who knows what he's doing but may also be trying to end you. For a few years now my wife and I have treated ourselves on date nights to dinner and a walking trip somewhere in the Village, which invariably includes a before-mentioned massage and also a visit to Rice to Riches. This diet-ruining place offers an extraordinary variety of rice pudding flavors, a concept we scoffed upon our first visit there as die-hard, traditional rice pudding fans. Como?! Who dared to change or add to the already heavenly taste of our mamis' and abuelas' arroz con leche? In retrospect we may have also been a little upset no one we know including ourselves would have ever thought to market it to the masses. Also slightly irritating was the fact that the place was clearly very popular, and that so many of their crazy creations we sampled tasted...

So. Freakin'. Good.

So don't go to Back and Foot Rub (185 Mulberry St, NYC, sadly now defunct) and ask for Bobby unless you actually want a deep tissue massage that feels a little bit like a medieval torture device, but worth every penny. Do not even think about visiting Rice to Riches (37 Spring St. NYC), particularly if you love rice pudding. That way you will not have the near out-of-body experience that is the exquisite taste of their rice pudding selections. You will also not have to marvel at the fact that non-latinos actually improved upon something so seemingly Latino. Touché, non-latinos. It's so good it actually makes me mad, but I write that between carefully guided, heaping spoonfuls of "Category 5 Caramel" combined with "Man-Made Mascarpone" into my big fat mouth.

And applying a fresh ice pack to my neck.