If you’re like me, you don’t like to be touched. I enjoy a hefty amount of personal space about me at all times, and if the rumors about Anna Wintour’s elevator preferences are true, well, I’m on board with her 100%. (We won’t get into the atrocities to which I’m subjected on the office elevator every day – but there are far too many crocs, pleated pants, and synthetic windbreakers for any one person to deal with, but I digress…) Back to touching me – I usually don’t like it. Particularly when I’m sober, which happens more than you’d think, especially during any given day. However, when I had my first massage a few months ago, I became an instant convert. It’s one of the only times when I don’t mind another person’s hands on me, especially if they’ve been well trained.
And someone must have trained the staff at étant quite well, because when I decided to indulge myself with a massage to celebrate the Madonna show in Boston, it was a divine moment. The magic hands of Mike eased out all the kinks of a hunched-over office posture and a sore, unaccustomed-to-working-out back that flares up at the first sign of stress. Â
It was transformative, and the whole experience, from the helpful receptionist to the soothing interior, left a tired and worn-out traveler rejuvenated and refreshed. If you’re looking to treat yourself, this is one great way to do it.
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