Mazdas, massages, and me

The end of June is bonus time here in Japan. I am of course using the Japanese word 'bonus' or ボーナス, which means a semi-annual lump sum payment of your salary, as opposed to the English meaning of an additional sum for good work on top of your normal salary. I receive a monthly salary and then twice a year, in June and December, I receive a 'bonus' which is essentially a deferred payment of 6 months worth of salary deductions. And why does this happen? Unfettered capitalism, my friends.
But that's not the point of this blog.
The point of this blog is that coinciding with the bonus period, there comes an avalanche of junk mail and fliers from companies desperate to relieve me of my hard earned yen. Among the letters I received yesterday was one from our local Mazda dealer.
As some of the more observant readers amongst you may recall, I have a Mazda. And I bought it from our local Mazda dealer. Nearly seven years ago. Now, the average length of car ownership in Japan is just over 8 years, so I sit atop that part of the bell curve that has our local dealer narrowing his eyes, rubbing his hands, and licking his rouged lips in anticipation of another sale to the hairy foreigner. To try and entice me down to the dealership the letter informed me that this weekend they were hosting a special 'test drive a new Mazda' fair.
But wait, there's more.
If the prospect of whizzing through downtown Muroran behind the wheel of a CX-5 or, whisper it, a turbo diesel Atenza estate, doesn't get me through the door then how about these enticements. Should I agree to take a car for a test drive, then I will get:
(a) a crepe. Yes, a crepe. With cream. And from the rather fuzzy, low resolution photo on the photocopied flier, some strawberries. Though that could well be the rouge lipstick mark from the over enthusiastic salesman.
(b) a massage. Yes, seriously, a massage. Not as practiced by those who leave their rather fetching calling cards in various niteclub toilets around inner city Dublin, but a genuine, god-fearing, hands-will-go-no-further-south-than-your-shoulders massage. The last time I had a decent massage was over three years ago on our first visit to Singapore when a particularly enthusiastic Thai gentleman tried to knead my left shoulder blade through my body and out my chest. As for Sanae, well, have you ever tried to get a massage from a hobbit? Lots of grunting, pinching, and snack breaks.
And finally (c): I would be entered into a draw for a box of hairy crab. No, really, bear with me here people. Crab, befollicled crab. Forget about your rebates and extended warranty incentives, here in Japan it takes shellfish to shift cars.
Now, I was game, good to go, but she who controls the purse strings (and doesn't give massages) said no, for fear that I would actually return with a turbo diesel Atenza estate. It is true that when it comes to shopping for, well, pretty much anything, that I am the impulse happy type. So the bonus (or what little that is left of it after the mortgage repayment), will instead probably be spent in the chocolate section of Tesco's when we are home next month.