While in Disney, Luker and I had the opportunity to go on a few date nights. They were fantastic. We went to the Magic Kingdom and to Epcot. We acted like teenagers and honestly they were some of the best dates we’ve had in a while. So fun to go on rides, squeeze the one you’re crushing on, and feel like a youngan again.
As you know, our kids were wicked sick for a bit before our trip and this created lots of stress for Luke and me. We were short on sleep and on and on. Bottom line, we felt tense. One night after eating dinner in France (Epcot) we decided it might be nice to get a massage. But where, pray-tell, can people get massages at night? There had to be some place. If this place is in fact Disney, shouldn’t they have these kinds of things around every corner? One would think.
We pondered for only a brief moment and then remembered that right near our hotel, there was a little strip mall with a massage place. Bingo. Maybe there was a shot in hell that it would be open apres dinner. So, we sped out of the park around 10 pm, giddy as hell.
We pulled up and I couldn’t have been more excited. ASIAN MASSAGE the sign read in blinking red lights. I clapped my hands and squealed with glee. “And I love Asian massage!” I said to Luker picturing my last massage in the Thailand airport. We bolted out of the car to the door.
Never once did it occur to us that random massage places located in dodgy strip malls off highways are a little, I donno, off. And never once did we think to ourselves, hmmm, is it strange that this place is open at 10:30pm on a Tuesday night? Naw. Never once. We walked forward more slowly now and attempted to peer into the opaque windows. Foreign men ran in and out of this massage place like flies on shit. Funny, I thought, a naive fucking butterfly, I don’t see any women going in?
We went inside and only then did we realize what kind of massage joint we’d stepped into. We were looking more for actual massages. Not the kind with blowjobs on the side.
Thanks, but not this time. We flapped our tiny ass wings back to the hotel and tried to scoop our chins off the floor. Orlando has a little more flavor than Boulder it seems. And I am a little greener than the average broad.