DAY 263: Getting cupped within an inch of my life

21 May

I'm either really bruised or I've been spammed.

IF I could get up and do a runner I just might, but I’m forced down onto the practitioner’s table with the pressure of an Acme anvil.

I know bugger all about cupping, other than Gwyneth Paltrow caused a furore after attending some red carpet bash with circular bruises on her back and a beatific smile on her face, and that it has its fair share of naysayers. I’ve found this spa in Kuala Lumpur that does it for a tenner though, so it would be churlish to ask too many questions.

I lie topless on my front and my practitioner, Maimum, yanks down my undies, and gives me a bit of an angry slather of oil, put out that I’m not going for the massage for another tenner. I hear the ignition of a cigarette lighter. I’ve guessed this is going to be uncomfortable, but at this very moment a panpipe rendition of ‘Do You Really Want to Hurt Me’ comes on the stereo and things take on a sinister skew.

I pipe up and ask Maimum what cupping does.

“Get body wind.”

“Did you say ‘wind’?”

“Yes. Bad wind.”

A good belch would have been less traumatic.

Maimum applies a cup to my neck with a loud sucking noise and it’s a sensation I haven’t felt since being bitten as a kid by one of those rogue bitey kids you get running around. Actually, it’s like being bitten and then having those jaws tear upwards incessantly.

“Pain? Pain?” Maimum says. I agree.

Eighteen cups are applied in total, as I grip the table legs. It hurts to breathe, which is awkward, as I seem to be breathing more sharply. Judging by photos I’ve seen of this treatment, my back now resembles a smorgasboard of prolapsed arses.

“How long do these stay on for?” I gasp in a conversational tone through the head hole in the table.

“Fifteen minutes,” she sympathises, tapping away on her Blackberry. I’m not going to crack and get her to pull them off early, but by god it’s tempting. “Most people cry,” Maimum adds happily. She leaves the room and I experimentally try to get up, but only succeed in squirming on the table – if there was any bag rifling going on I’d be powerless to act. All I need is a hood over my head.

After 15 minutes, Maimum pulls off each cup and the relief as each inch of my body is returned to me is so sweet that we both laugh. I’d actually pay the cupping price just for that feeling. Maimum brings me a cup of warm water (“NO coffee!”) and I beat a hasty retreat out of the spa to have a calming cigarette.

Keeper? NO.

3 Responses to “DAY 263: Getting cupped within an inch of my life”

  1. esther at 11:36 am #

    you said no to bio-energy shaking and yes to this??? WTF?
    xx

  2. LouPardi at 6:09 pm #

    somewhere there is a very satisfied octopus…

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