This morning’s paper had a headline that a couple of massage parlors in town were busted yesterday for doing that little something extra that gets massage parlors busted. When I read the headline, I wondered, “Is that the massage parlor I pass by every day?” Yep, that would be the one.
The location used to be a high end resale shop where I bought a lot of my fashionable previously-worn-by-rich-ladies wardrobe. I was disappointed to see the resale shop close, but excited to see a massage parlor open in the location. It’s not only close to my house, it’s right across the street from my gym.
As I watched the progress of the remodeling, however, I became a little suspicious. The hand-written “VIP Massage” sign was a dead giveaway that image and sanitation probably weren’t high on their list of priorities. I’m happy to inform you that my fear of getting a nasty staph infection probably kept me from getting busted for suspicion of giving and/or receiving “happy endings” massages. Obsessive compulsive paranoia can be a good thing.
(By the way, the fact that I haven’t posted in the last couple of days has nothing to do with the bust of “VIP Massage.” However, if you need “a massage” really bad, just call my cell and ask for LuLu. I’ll be sure she gets the massage…I mean message.)