Suggest a massage

“I guess you can give me a massage,” I suggest to Robert.

“A massage? Seems like I got to bust out the massage table and scented oils,” he says, though I assume he’s joking.

“You don’t have to go all out. You probably don’t even need to use oil,” I tell him.

“Oh, I insist. Just wait here, Charlene,” Robert says. He turns and goes into the garage and when he returns he has a large rectangular bag. He unzips it, revealing a folded massage table. He unfolds it in the den, where he leads me, gesturing for me to have a seat on the table. He leaves me momentarily and returns with a basket of oils and a set of towels.

“Are you seriously going to give me a full-body massage?” I ask.

“Only if you want to. I can give you a different kind of massage,” Robert says. “I‘m here to serve you.”