The "Wedding" is starting to cramp my style. I'm having to do things like cut my hair, and learn to dance (Leah ordered a dancing DVD, thank GOD I'm not having to go to an actual class). And then there was today.
Today, I got my very first facial. I know.
Leah dragged me to this fancy Day Spa--I mean FANCY (we spent nearly $200--paid for by my boss, her Daddy). They kept asking me if I wanted anything to drink. It was crazy. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning.
See, I have decent skin (in Junior College--my early 20s, it was really bad). But one thing I've always had was blackheads (mainly on my nose). One chick I dated even told me I had a strawberry for a nose (this was after I broke up with her). Anyway, Leah decided we should both get facials before the wedding. However, we'd heard that facials can actually make you break out sometimes (one of those "it gets worse before it gets better" sort of things). So we did it this weekend. I didn't really want to go, but I recognized that I could use a little attention in this area.
The spa was fancy. We got there, and everyone was super-hot...I was the only dude there. I had hoped that me and Leah wouldn't be separated, however this was not to be. I was shuffled into a small little room. It looked like a cross between a room at the dentist and the barbershop. The lady (super hot, in a traditional (i.e. does nothing for me) sort of way) sat me down and proceeded to ask me some pseudo-medical questions. Most made sense (allergies, conditions, that sort of thing) but some where strange (what sort of moisturizer do I use?). Everything was going fine until she asked me what kind of soap I used on my face.
"Plain, yellow dial soap," I told her. From the horrified expression on her face, I could tell I'd given the wrong answer. Once the interview portion was over it was time to get down to business.
"You can either put on these pants or you can just stay in your shorts," she told me, handing me a pair of crossbred scrubs/sweat pants. I was flabbergasted--wait a second...I have to get undressed for this??? No one had told me this. I was just getting a facial!
Now, I have a problem with doctors and other medical professionals. I don't like getting man-handled by total strangers. I am a very touchy-huggy person, but I have to FRICKIN' KNOW YOU FIRST. This woman came back into the room once I'd taken off my shirt and climbed onto the bed. She had me sit up so she could put on a hair-net thingy.
"You're sweating," she told me.
Duh, lady. I'm freaking out. I have no idea what you're about to do to me. This room is dimly lit and there are strange Martha Stewart-like instruments of torture.
"You can close your eyes," she told me.
"Okay," I said staring at her.
She stood there, blinking: "You can close your eyes if you want to."
"Are you telling me to close my eyes?" I asked her.
"Most people do."
So I closed my eyes.
She started rubbing my face with this mineral-oil solution. At first, she was just rubbing my Then she smothered me with a hot towel. All of that was nothing compared to what was next...
My face was blasted for EIGHT MINUTES by a super-hot stream gun. Then the "extraction" process began. I don't know exactly what this thing looked like, because my eyes were covered with gauze (guess that was in case I decided to not close my eyes)...but it felt like she was dragging a vegetable peeler across my skin. This lasted for ten minutes. Then I got a gel mask that was ice cold.
Finally, she washed all this shit off my face, and I was free to get dressed. Leah took a little longer (apparently her lady gave her a hand massage--which I'm glad I didn't get). All told we spent $180. Yikes. I got the hell out of there as fast as I could.
As God as my witness, I'm never going back.
Thus was, my day of beauty.