I am now the proud owner of a set of massage balls.

It all started with a trip to the mall. This by itself is asking for trouble, I know. I went to the mall to pick up my new glasses, but it was also because I wanted to see overweight underage girls in Fubu jackets with their thongs sticking out of their pants (and on a side note; thongs should not stick out. In fact, if worn properly, they should be pretty well hidden. I'd say that's a good rule of thumb, people).

With ninja-like stealth I managed to sneak past the cel-phone kiosk and fly by the home security system people. I thought I had made it through the retail gauntlet when a young, attractive woman in casual clothing and a furry coat stepped in front of me. She said, “Can I show you something?” in a sexy accent that I couldn’t quite place (for the record, I can’t place any accent).

I must have looked dazed because she walked past me and said, “Follow me.” My brain told me to run away, but my penis told me to follow. Usually my penis is overruled, but lately he’s been making more and more decisions for me.

She stopped at a kiosk of oddly shaped instruments and exotic fragrances. She said, and I quote, “Turn around and take off your jacket.” I complied with less than the recommended state of caution. I began to sweat a little knowing that she just had to say the word and my pants were coming off.

Suddenly I had the sensation of more than a dozen fingers running up and down my back. This felt good for a moment, but then I thought, “Wait a second, there are definitely more than ten fingers back there.” I spun around to see what the hell was going on. The woman held what looked like a door handle with several straightened coat hangers sticking out of it.

Long story short, I decided the coat-hanger-back-scratcher would make a neat gift for someone on my list. I didn’t even know the price until she rang up my order. I won’t tell you how much it cost, but it was $25.

Paying waaay too much for what I had already decided to buy wasn't enough. She was certain that in addition to the coat hanger doorknob contraption I needed a set of plastic massage balls. The thought of buying them never once crossed my mind, but then, of course, she gave me a demonstration.

My pleas of "No thank you, I don't need them," "Sorry, I don't want them." and, "I said no!" turned to "Ooooh yea. Lower baby. Oooooh, that's what daddy needs."

To the credit of my financial fortitude, I was able to deny the massage balls even after the demonstration. She pleaded with me, giving me a look that said, "If you don't buy them I'll be forced to return to my homeland and marry a man I don't love when I could stay here and marry you." Still I said no, I just wanted the shitty coat hanger thing and that was it. Then she started dropping the price. First five dollars off. This wasn't much, given the original price. Then ten dollars off. Ten dollars off of "Fucking Expensive" is still "Expensive." Then fifteen. No no no! Just ring up my shitty doorknob and let me leave.

Any moment that I showed the slightest bit of hesitation she started another demonstration. It did little to change my mind, but I found that if I looked uncertain enough, she might be able to work out that kink in my lower back.

I forget how many different pitches we had gone through from there, but the final price of the massage balls was now $10 and she was about two steps away from throwing me on the floor and having sex with me to sell them. Why I didn't hold out for that I'll never know. Instead, I caved like a cheap condo and bought the massage balls for 10 dollars.

There isn’t anyone on my list who wants or needs massage balls. So I’ll just keep them, you know, as a reminder of the great times I had with massage ball girl.