Fall Foibles: My First Facial
Here's how I ended up in the parking lot with someone hitting their door against my car (more on that later): my husband was going out of town for work. I've always wanted a husband who would say something like "why don't you go take a bath, honey" or "you should go get yourself a pedicure. Just relax." So when mine said "I hope you do something you're really excited about," I agreed with what he hadn't said but he did in my head. I was going to get a facial! I've never had one, and a friend of mine loves them.
|My dull, broken-out before picture was appropriately sad.|
I knew nothing about facials, however. I imagined my skin would look better, and that was good. I figured it would be relaxing. "Hi! I'm here for an 11:30 facial," I tell the yogi at the front desk. "Rachel?" she murmurs. "Huh?"
I go into the room, and she hands me a late 90s strapless towel dress. "You can remove all of your clothing or cover yourself with this. Or with the sheet," she whispers. "Um..hm....Why would I need to be naked?" I don't say aloud. She leaves, I take my shirt off, leave my pants and socks, and get on the heated (divine) bed, under the sheet, face up. I figure she'll want to wash my neck or something.
She comes in, or at least I think so. My eyes haven''t yet adjusted to the bat cave lighting situation. Then, she proceeds to sit down at my head and put on the Turbie Twist hair towel, also from the 90s, and rub a series of liquids on my face: a sandy one, then she slowly washes my face, a slippery one, then more slow motion washing, followed by an aloe-scented goo (after sun care? I wonder and don't say) that goes on my face and arms. I am glad I'd removed my shirt. More ritualistic washing. Then, what smells and feels like a berry jam. I resist licking my lips as she whispers something about goggles. Oh! There they are-something like the ones that Kramer wore on the Seinfeld episode where he buys a tanning bed. I am blind-or are my eyes shut? I can't tell. Then, she is pulling my feet out from under the blanket. Annnnd...I still have my socks on. I hadn't anticipated feeling like a virginal teenage boy. She coos something about a foot massage. My ears perk up. More goo, this time on my feet, followed by a relaxing foot rub. Then, my feet are wrapped in plastic bags and pushed into...could they be snow boots? Space boots? No. They make a wobbling noise-rain boots?! Whatever they are, they are warm. Heavenly warm. "Did you get these on Zappos?" I don't ask.
She must be washing her hands, judging by the slashing near my head. Only then do I realize how gross it would be if she rubbed my feet with feet goo and then touched my face. Relieved by the splashing noise, I take what I realize was my first deep breath.
Then she is by my ear: "It's time for the extractions." Um, what? I nod knowingly as she cotton balls my face with something in slow motion. What follows next ias the pimple scene from Hairspray except I have the swimming goggles back on again. Then more ritualistic washing of the face. Then she whispers "You're going to feel my thumb." Thumb?! Where?! Lip balm. She must have said lip balm because that appears on my lips.
Then the sound of lotion on hands and a shoulder massage. I exhale that breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. Then a few more rounds of face washing, and the heavenly rain boots are removed. Later, as I put my shirt back on, I spied them-heating pad booties. Genius!
And just like that, she's trying to sell me the products she used, and I know we're wrapping up. The sales part is shorter than I had worried, and I'm grateful. My skin feels loved, and my back and feet wonderful. We chat about her friend's recent lip injections (too much), and I am back out in the lobby with the yogi who still thinks my name is Rachel.
|After-seems more glowy, right? Or maybe the light is just better?|
A few days later, my skin looked a bit better than it had before. Am I over-the-moon? I am for massages, and next time I'll book one!