Happy Ending

My husband and I were having a chat one day about the top 10 best feelings ever. The list ranged from the obvious (giant hug... get your mind out of the gutter) to the disgusting (finally going to the bathroom after being constipated) to the anal-retentive (successfully plucking an eyebrow hair after multiple failed attempts). But topping my personal list is a cheap, rough massage from the local shady massage parlor.

One of my favorite parts about New York is that you can get a massage any time of day for next to nothing. There are hundreds of qigong shops dotting the cityscape, begging for you to take your top off and wonder if someone's getting a happy ending in the stall next door.

There are two qigong places on the same street near my apartment. I frequent the Northern outpost since it's closer to my house, has a frequent massage card, and was featured in an episode of The Sopranos. A friend of mine frequents the Southern location.

At the Northern "spa" there is a young guy with a lazy eye who I always seem to get. He's a little creepy, but very good. Lazy Eye turned off my friend and drove him to the Southern joint.

Lazy Eye and friends are always eating dinner when I swing by, usually because I go during the week and after work. The entire staff is crowded in the small lobby eating noodle soup. Every time.

I feel badly for interrupting their meal, but I suppose you're asking for interruptions when your working hours are from 9 to 9 7-days-a-week. Yeah, that's right. 9 to 9. Don't you want to live here?

Anyhow, I woke up this morning with a raging headache and fancied a massage during lunch. I was working from home so I could visit my friends during lunch instead of dinner. I was curious as to what else they're eating over there.

But as I walked up to my joint, I noticed that it, and the adjacent shoe shine, were closed. Permanently.

I was super bummed and played a mental slideshow to the tune of "The Way We Were" as I trotted south one more block. Well hello, Southern.

Southern was a bit cleaner than Northern and much more private. The stalls at Southern are separated by non-porous screens as opposed to Northern's "I can see your boobies" bamboo curtains. Southern also plays better music. Maybe it's not actually better, but different from the tired old Asian symphonies of Northern.

My massage was nice, but not as rough-and-tumble as I like. The ladies of Southern are much gentler. I like getting beat on. But what was nice, was at one point the woman caressed my love handles in such a way that sparked a vivid memory.

I was instantly taken back to my youth (high school senior week, theme park workers frequenting theme parks, college spring break), and the times of getting your sunscreen applied by someone who likes you. Is nothing better?

Ladies, I'm sure you remember every guy who's ever lathered you up. Gentlemen, I'm confident that you have a "special technique" for this - the ultimate move.

Summers past are running through my head. Can't you picture it? That one hot moment before rolling on your back, popping in your headphones, and ignoring the opposite sex all day? Thinking you're gonna get some later even though you won't have straight hair or be wearing any makeup? The awkwardness melting away of being semi-nude with people you should probably not be seeing nude.

It's a sexually charged, pseudo-massage with cancer-fighting benefits. Wow.

I may have a new best feeling ever to add to my list.