Four-handed Massage

Sipping cucumber water at a high-end spa, Amy gushes over the phone about the pricey four-handed massage a friend has given her, until her therapists arrive: two bald men in matching tunics named Nole and Grunth. She quietly asks the receptionist whether a female therapist is available and is told, with an absurd excuse, that every woman on staff is out today. Back in the treatment room the pair run through an intake checklist of body parts in baby talk, insist she undress completely, and burst in before she is ready. Once she is face down on the table they chat to each other about her body, marvel that her legs match, and when she asks for quiet and some music they simply start humming. As they announce a stubborn knot in her muffin top, Amy notices there are now far more hands on her back than two men could have, and lifts her head in alarm.