As I was piling tons of stress on my back, my better half had decided to book for me an appointment for a massage. We are together enough time for her to know that a good reflexology can do wonders to me, and consequently, to out relationships.

A man in his late 20’s called me name as I was sitting in the large waiting area of one of Prenzlaur Berg more posh massage parlor. I followed him as we were walking in a maze of rooms, from one building to the other, finally settling in a small room featuring Far Eastern whisper music and the special aroma of massage parlor.

On the way he was telling me about himself. He was a dancer who followed his love, both professionally and personally, to Berlin. I took off my clothes and lied on my back, and he asked me what did I want him to do. I said that I would like to have 60 full minutes of foot massage.

“This, I can’t do,” was his reply. “I don’t have a program for 60 minutes for your feet. I can do 15 minutes on your feet, and then do the shoulders and the head, with a couple of minutes working on your ears.”

I was about to tell him to start with my ears just to make sure that I was hearing correctly, but then I reminded myself that I came here to relax, not to be more agitated.

“That’s fine,” I conceded, “but can you please press really hard when you do my feet?”

“I can’t do that, either,” he said, “I have to be very careful with my fingers.”

I came home after an hour. After two minutes we fought. Over nothing.