on being mormon

It's the end of a busy time at work. To celebrate our survival skills and to reward us for dealing gracefully, my boss planned a little retreat for our department for our inservice yesterday. I say retreat and not "retreat," since it was nothing like those mislabeled "retreats" with contrived get-to-know-you games, endless meetings, crowded sleeping arrangements, and not a single five-minute period in which one could actually, you know, retreat. This day was simple and enjoyable. One of the perks was that my boss hired two masseurs to be available with their comfy little chairs throughout the morning, to give neck and shoulder massages. After laying out the plan for the day, she went to great lengths to make it clear that massages were in no way a mandatory activity. Anyone who wanted to opt out was welcome to do so. Please don't feel like you have to have one. It's fine if you don't want to. On and on and on. She probably spent five minutes of precious retreat time detailing the procedure for how one could confidentially remove his or her name from the list to avoid getting a massage and yet avoid making a scene.

To which we all privately responded in our hearts, "Whaaaah?! Who in her right mind wouldn't...."

But at last we moved on. A half hour later my boss came to my table. She whispered, "So you're okay with... everything?"

I quickly surveyed my situation: while many people I knew were attending a riveting inservice on bullying prevention in a stuffy gym, I was in a plush meeting place, my feet up on a neighboring chair, and I was working my way through a heap of beautiful fresh fruit, while shooting the breeze with people whose company I enjoy. This one was a no-brainer.

"Uh, yeah."

"Okay. I just didn't think... I didn't know if you would be allowed to do the massage thing."

I'm searching her face, first to see if she's serious, then to look for clues. Why is she saying this to me? Because she's confusing me with someone who has chronic neck issues? Because my mom called to say I had to come right home after breakfast? Because my getting a massage would send my husband into a jealous rage?

Oh. Of course.

I'm giggling. "Um, you mean because I'm Mormon?"

She nods. In all seriousness, she nods her head.

"Right. Whew! For a minute there I had forgotten about Mormon Commandment 87b. 'Thou shalt never have thy neck and shoulders massaged by unfamiliar professionally-trained men, lest thou thereby be found unwholesome. But, if thou must have thy neck and shoulders massaged by a strange man, thou shalt do thy best not to enjoy it.'"

Don't you worry. I took the commandment loophole route. I got my silly massage, and did my very best not to enjoy it. I failed at that effort though; even after all the hooplah, it was positively lovely.