It’s like a fabulous dance, if you don’t count the fact that I’m more or less a corpse on the massage table and she’s doing all the work. Stretching, kneading, rubbing all the nasties out of my pathetic frame, she takes my poor much-abused body from its fearful retreat and sends me into battle a new man. Even a 12 hour plane flight, which usually leaves me brittle and immobile, yields to an hour under her expert treatment. Monica is the best I’ve ever had. She’s sensitive to how much pressure my ancient body can handle, but is no wimp. I’m only willing to share because I’ve already booked my appointments in advance.