So much for my happy ending

If you're a close female friend of mine, there's a high chance that I've asked you to give me a massage. Those things are just extremely addictive. A few years back, I had a friend who was an aspiring masseuse who practiced on me for about an hour every other day. Those were the good ol' days.

The first time I ever had a professional massage, I was in Las Vegas and woke up really early in the morning to go to the spa. Just in case, I gargled mouthwash before I left my room because you never know if your masseuse might turn out to be Jessica Alba. Unfortunately, my masseuse turned out to be a masseur named Brad. It was an awkward thirty minutes to say the least.

My second professional massage was in New York last summer. I was sightseeing in the Financial District and came across a small Asian massage parlor. Inside the parlor's waiting room were a bunch of highfalutin, suit-wearing Wall Street dudes on their lunch break. Nice, I thought. Must be an upscale place.

Remember in Rush Hour 2 when the door slides open at the massage parlor and Chris Tucker is gawking at the sight of sultry, obedient-looking Asian women? Yeah, it was kind of like that.

The girl that massaged me spoke very little English, not that it mattered because it was just me yapping away about my stay in New York the whole time. She would just politely giggle, which obviously made me giggle too.

Near the end of my massage I had been flipped over and was laying on my back as she worked on my chest. I was thinking about how much I should tip her when she asked me, "You wan happy ending?"

If you people are as naive as I used to be, you won't know that a "happy ending" is when they jerk you off at the end of the massage. I didn't know that, so when she asked me if I wanted a happy ending I said, "Sure, yeah. You just do what you need to do to finish the job."

I wondered how many clients opted for the sad ending, then tried to calculate how much tip I owed the girl when her hand nonchalantly grabbed my pee-pee AKA Mr. Quasimodo. It all happened so quickly, and I was afraid she'd really get weird on me and start cooing or purring or something. In a confused panic I screamed, "WHAT?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? NO!"

"...You no wan happy ending?"

I shook my head vigorously and said, "NO WAN! I NO WAN HAPPY ENDING!!!"

My words gave new meaning to that crappy Avril Lavigne song.

So with those two interesting past massage experiences, you can see why I was a little nervous about my massage session today. It had been a while since my last one, and I was craving it, so I arranged an appointment at the rec early this morning to get my third ever professional massage. Before I walked into the room this morning, I hoped earnestly that nothing embarrassing would happen this time.

I'll tell you what might have happened.

I might have been really relaxed due to a quality massage, and I might have farted. The fart might have made a hissing sound, like air rushing out of a deflating balloon. The masseuse might have pretended not to hear it, and I might have whispered "breakfast burrito." And she might have burst out into a humiliating giggle fit.