The Price of Beauty

Back in November, my sister asked me what I wanted for my birthday. I had told her I wanted an 18 inch long machete. She thought I was kidding, so she went out and purchased a gift certificate to the local mani/ pedi/ facial place. She put a lot of thought into that gift, because she is always at a loss when it comes to gift giving to her older sister. I think my whole family has the same issue. For the life of me, I don’t understand what is so hard about getting me knives or ordnance. But I digress.

The one and only time I had a facial was back in 2001. Hubby very kindly purchased a complete spa experience for me, to include a massage, lunch, facial, and haircut and style. I spent the entire day there, and completely enjoyed it. But it had been a while since I had been, so I went thinking this would take about 40 minutes.

I was wrong…

It started out innocently enough. I was told to wrap myself in a towelwrap and lay under the steam. I lay under the full force of hot clouds for ten minutes. Thank goodness I am from the tropics. Next, the specialist placed some cleansing lotion on my face and neck, letting it sit for a few minutes, before applying a scalding hot towel on my face, impeding breathing, and crying. Once that was done, she applied some majikal stoof that was based with peppermint oil. OMIGAWD!!! MY SKIN IS ON FIRE!!!!!!!!111ELEVENTY!!! I am whimpering by now, and the specialist asks if I’m doing ok. And of course, I said I was fine. She proceeds to place another hot towel, which I barely notice because of the peppermint zinging through my pores.

Next up, instruments of torture. Now, I don’t have the most perfect skin. But really, did she have to take a freakin’ RAKE to it?? She began with my nose, which does have nerve endings on it, along with a host of blackheads and imperfections. She is at this for almost thirty minutes. Then she begins on my cheeks and chin. The longer she does this, the more I realize how totally deformed my skin must be. I am patiently waiting for her to finish, and feel my body relax when I hear her put away the rake. I take a deep breath, and BAM!!! Another hot towel on my face. By now, my pores can be sold off as condos. I figure she is done by now, and ask what is next. She replies, “Now is exfoliation.” How bad can it be?

After the assault on my pores, and the peppermint oil, the answer is, pretty fucking bad. She takes some scrub that is formulated to be “gentle” and begins to grind it into my face and neck. She grinds for a few minutes, making sure to really get it into the wrinkles, I imagine. When she is done, I breathe a sigh of relief, which ends in a small yelp as yet another freakin’ hot towel is draped on my face. She wipes the sand away ( I assume it’s sand), and begins to lightly apply another concoction on my face, this time a cooling one. By this time I realize my entire body is completely tense, so I force myself to relax. Just in time to get a hot towel plopped on my face. By now, I am praying to God to let her forget to finish the facial, or for the place to lose electricity. She then begins a “massage” on my neck and shoulders, and by massage, I mean her hands are crushing any and all resistance by my muscles. Finally, she tells me she is done, and I get up rather wobbly, my left eye trying to adjust.

For the record, I don’t have a low tolerance for pain. After all, I gave birth twice without the aid of an epidural. I do have a low tolerance for strangers digging into my skin. I think I will make sure to give my sister a gift certificate for a facial for her birthday. Unlike me, she would love it.

Oh, and did I mention the specialist was Chinese? That should explain a lot 😉

About LC Aggie Sith

Machete-wielding zombie killer when not shopping for shoes. View all posts by LC Aggie Sith

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