Being a massage therapist gives me a particularly earthy experience of the body.

All day long I'm touching people--probably more intensively than any spouse or partner (minus the sex stuff--I'm not THAT kind of therapist)--feeling, seeing and smelling a person pretty thoroughly for the hour that they lie on my table.

I remember, as a kid, the hilarious wonder and terror of the fart, of the body sounds that didn't involve the larynx. Even now, most people I know (aside from other body workers) are pained by the reminders of their own, or others', possession of a digestive tract, of secretion glands, and of sphincters that reveal body funk.

After over nine (!) years in this biz, it's pretty hard to phase me--but oh, I've got stories! Tales of funk n' stuff...

...like the man who came to me years ago who reeked of, I didn't know what, until I discovered that, upon his turning over to the prone position,
(Aside: "prone" means lying face down. I've been noticing a lot recently that people have been using the word "prone" when they really mean to use the word "supine", which indicates lying face up. One of my pet peeves. That and the constant using of the word "your" when one really means to use "you're".)
his gluteal cleavage (a trade term-feel free to use it.) was evidently packed with composting human fecal matter.

In other words, the guy obviously didn't know how to wipe his ass.

And, I'm pretty sure that it wasn't just a fluke that day, that he wasn't simply running late and forgot a vital part of his hygiene routine. Because it happened the second time he came--and this time he left skid marks on my sheets. Think about it. Sheets that you lie on are not like the underwear that shimmies up your cleavage and manages to find remnant fecal matter sufficient enough to cause the proverbial skidmarks-No! Sheets stay flat on the table, no creeping, no shimmying! So the stuff had to be pretty thick and far down that aforementioned gluteal chasm to create the mark of the beast. I started to mentally rehearse the conversation I would have to have with him if he were to come a third time: "Uh, John--I'd, um, like to talk with you about your hygiene--er, your bottom hygiene. Can I give you a little lesson on wiping? Uh no, I'm not going to demonstrate." Thank my stars that was the last time I saw him.

I've got more stories, but I'm done for the night. If for some crazy reason you are a body worker reading this blog--tell me one of yours--what's the worst you've got?