I like to get the occasional massage. I had a couple of disks fused in my neck and while the surgery was a huge success, my neck tends to stiffen up every once in a while as I always tended to carry my stress in my neck and shoulders.

Having someone really go after all the kinks up there is awesome. I mean REALLY go after them. If a therapist isn’t bringing a lot of pressure, they typically don’t get another shot with me. My favorite masseuse was a huge Samoan guy in Utah who had meat hooks for hands and could make me squeal like a little school girl. He would massage me for a while and when he wanted me in a different position he just picked me up and put me in a different position, and I’m not exactly tiny. He was massive and awesome.

Recently, I started going to a new place in Tennessee and found someone who uses a lot of pressure and is really good with my upper back and neck. As she typically only works my upper body, I leave on my boxers.

But recently, my hip and glut have been bothering me and she has worked more in this area. The other day, as she is working on my glut and it seems to me my boxers are kind of in the way and I say, “I would be happy to take off my boxers if that would be easier. I typically wear them just so you don’t have to look at my old-man ass.”

She busts out laughing. “Did you just say your ‘old man goodies?”

Now my first thought was, “How did you confuse ‘ass’ with ‘goodies?” Second, if I was going to call anything south of the border “my goodies,” I would start with the “old stick and stones.” Thirdly, as I am lying face down, I’m starting to seriously consider a testicle tuck. But I just go with, “Uh, most definitely not. I said ‘old-man ass.”

Still laughing hysterically, she says, ”I thought you called your butt your goodies. Like the song says, ‘Don’t you look at my goodies.”

“Nope, didn’t say goodies. And I can’t say I am familiar with the song either,” I say as she starts singing the song.

For the rest of the massage with my boxers pulled down but not off (I’m assuming so she doesn’t see my real goodies), she gives me an excellent glut and hip massage with the occasional vibration that can only be part of hysterical internal laughing. “Did you think of me singing the goodies song again?” I asked.

“Yep. Don’t you look at my goodies!” in her best baritone, followed by a few more bursts of laughter.

So, the next time I go in for a massage, do I strip naked or wear my boxers again. Logically, I should just go naked and allow her to give me a more thorough massage. But the reality is, every time she sees my hind end, FOREVER, she is going to be laughing inside thinking of my old man goodies. While I acknowledge I am getting a little older, I don’t think I want my ass laughed at quite yet.

Boxers or Commando? Quite the dilemma.