Facials are a funny thing. All those gizmos and liquids, pastes and gels. Its enough to send an airport security officer insane. It was my birthday on Sunday and I decided to treat me. A posh dunch, massage and movie - consecutively not concurrently, you understand. Even LA hasn't gone that crazy as to offer a face-stuffing movie massage service but it could just be a matter of time aaaanyway. The old visage doesn't always get the love it deserves so a facial every now and then is always a good idea whether in the salon or at home.
I'd gone for a relatively basic procedure but I think she still did a pretty thorough job. When I walked in to the treatment room, I was a little taken aback by the kit, much of which I could only guess its purpose. In fact, so threatening where some of these tools that I wondered if I wanted a facial or she wanted information.
It turns out she did but only what skin type I was. I lay back and let her work her magic which largely involved slathering something onto my face then wiping it off with a hot towel. Then the tools came into play. The first one felt like some kind of Fisher Price sander. She used if for a frighteningly long time then she let out a quiet "hmmm". Hmmm, what?? Hmmm, there's no hope for this one. Hmmm, I wonder if I locked my Prius or hmmm I wonder if she's going to blog this experience. Better get the crazy crap out. Give this bitch sumt to write about!
Next, she pulled out what felt like some kind of furniture polisher. It made an alarming sound like zzztzzzztzzzzt. What the hell was she doing? If this were some futuristic film the next thing you'd hear is a computerised voice say, "brain download is complete". But I didn't have time to complain. She'd already wiped off the Mr. Sheen and had fired up her next weapon. I don't know what it was but it sounded angry like, gggrzzzzzzzz gggrzzzzzz. My face started to tingle. Osho no likey but luckily, soon it was over. She slapped on some moisturiser, an overly generous helping of lipbslm and sent me on my way. I looked in the mirror not quite knowing what to expect. Would it turn out she'd sanded my face down to a flat paddle and all I'd be good for was playing a Dr Who baddie or a ping pong bat. I stole a look. My skin was - glowing. The sanding or what ever fancy health spa name they'd given the process had totally done the trick. I was well chuffed and very much looking forward to doing it all again soon. Bring on the gloop and sanding.