Chesterland's Happy Ending

One of the first things I noticed upon moving to Chesterland is that there were a lot of spas. Like, a ridiculous number of them. Because after a day of shooting coyotes and burning large piles of rubbish in your backyard, who doesn't want a facial?

But one spa in particular, the Silver Spa, always stood out to me. It didn't look like much-- just a white house with a sign in front that said "All are welcome." About three minutes from my house, I drive by it constantly. But there was one thing that always bothered me about it.

"Why do you think that place is always open?" I'd ask Ben whenever we drove by. Because it was always open-- when I took the cat to the vet at seven a.m. on a Wednesday, when I drove to Drug Mart for a last-minute beer run at ten p.m. on a Sunday-- always.

"I don't think it is open," Ben would say. "I think they just don't turn off the sign."

"I think it's a whore house," I said.

And I was right!

Please feel free to congratulate me on my Columbo-like powers of deduction now.