The masseuse was angry. Alas, I explained, that I had not been able to get my hands on the ointment yet. I had to lay down an oath, that tonight, after my shower, I would an-oint myself, my belly, my back, under my arms, my legs, the souls of my feet. I oathed and she was sort of okay again.
The reason for the splat with my masseuse? When she put oil on my back to start the massage, she had to reoil me three times because my skin was so dry it kept on soaking up the oil so hungrily that not a drop (nay, not a Drop) was left to masseuse with.
I shall tonight an-oint myself with the golden liquid.
Such dryness. It makes me think of Savannah.
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