As most of you know the wife spent a portion of last year attending massage school (when the caftan-clad teacher asked why in a pre-class orientation meeting her response, "because I want to make money", was a refreshingly sharp tonic to the amorphous cloud of mellow feelings rising off the other applicants).
Mixed in with anatomy lessons and all the thumb-springing, gnawing and pokking were a few sessions spent learning the basics of acupressure, the safe and sane version of accupuncture, the very name of which generates global unease.
The theory is the same, pressure on certain key points of the body has therapeutic & restorative effects, and acupuncture grew out of the older practice of acupressure.
Which brings us to my testimonial.
I picked up a cold sometime last week, which idled in my head for a bit before erupting in a multicolored welter of chunky fluids. I stoically withstood Zulu-esque waves of mucus for several days, but my stockade was finally overrun and I retired, whimpering, to bed.
A childhood under the thumb of a maniacal hypochondriac father left the Wife with an admirable lack of tolerance for grown men who snivel & whine. It took her barely a chapter of The Hunchback of Notre Dame to lose patience and lay siege to the various enemy redoubts on my face with thumb and forefinger.
Fifteen or so minutes of sustained assault on my grotesquely swollen Palace of Heaven and Welcome Perfume points yielded frankly amazing results.
I went from feeling like Rob Bottin was putting me through a Howling-style werewolf transformation to a state of relative normalcy. The mucus vanished, the pressure ceased, and the wife reports I was asleep almost instantly.
So, take it from a hippy-hating sceptic- that acupressure shit really works!
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