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A few weeks ago, I was out in front of my house, struggling to water my grass, because I had strained my back a few days before and was still a bit sore. As I dragged my garden hose around, I heard someone call out to me and turned to see who it was. I saw my neighbor Patty, standing across the street with her dog. She said good morning and asked if I was okay. I replied, telling her that I was a bit sore because I had strained my back while trying to install a new dishwasher. She quickly walked over, and we began to chat. She said she had noticed me hobbling around and asked if I had gone to a chiropractor. I said I hadn't, and that I was just taking medication prescribed by my doctor. I told her it was feeling a bit better than it had on the previous weekend, when I originally hurt myself, but was slowly improving.

We chatted about it for a bit, and she asked me if my wife was massaging me. I told her she wasn't, because she wasn't around. She had gone down the shore with her parents and would be gone for the next two weeks. After I told her that, she replied quickly, telling me that she used to be licensed in massage therapy many years ago, and if I wanted, she wouldn't mind coming over and rubbing my back for me. I asked if she was serious, as she said she was. Prior to getting a job in the family law office, she used to work as a real estate agent and massage therapist. I told her that it sounded great, and I could certainly use a good rubdown. I asked her how much she would charge for a full body massage, and she told me that it wouldn't cost me anything. I asked if she was sure, and she told me that she was going to walk her dog, and ...

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