No, seriously... I went to a brothel last week.

For work no less. So, I guess you could say I got paid to go into a brothel... if you wanted to take it a step further you might even be able to stretch it and say that I was working in a brothel. Ha. Now, obviously I wasn't working in the way that you would normally 'work' in a brothel. But it is still funny to talk about.

Contrary to what I had been led to believe through my teenage years of sneaking peeks at friends dads magazines, and from what I learned through watching late night SBS television, the brothel was NOT full of scantily dressed cute girls wandering around with trays of cocktails. No lingere... no comfortable reclining couches... no big puffy cushions... nothing.

Instead we rang the bell, and the door was opened by a short, old fat woman who trudged up and down the hallway and I'm pretty sure I saw her I saw her scratching her backside Homer Simpson style. This was a dodgy place, the kind of place where old has-beens and never-beens with missing teeth hang out. Bad.

So I just thought I would let you all know, in case you were wondering where I have been spending my days.

Oh, and when making casual conversation with the madame at a brothel, please take it from me and avoid the following phrases.

"So, have things been busy?"

"You have had a heap of guys in here, hey?"

"Do you offer a bundle deal?"

"Is there a rack in here somewhere?"

Yeah... I kid you not, do not ask these questions in a brothel. No matter how much you are being paid to go inside... because no one wants to hear about the cleaning woman describing how she spends her day washing whore house bedsheets after... well, you know.