Saturday, December 15, 2007

Thoughts on a facial


Well, I don't know. A friend of ours just sold a spa in town to another woman who offered me a free facial. All I remember of the only other facial I've ever had
was getting a lot of glop mushed around on my face and then, after being lulled into a feeling of false secutiry by some nice warm mush on my forehead, the startling and excruciating experience of an unexpected eyebrow waxing. But for free? Sure, I'll go again!
It was okay. I thought a lot about women who make this type of thing a habit. How do they justify the expense? They must be those women who smell expensive and know what's fashionable and what's not. That isn't me. I smell like Secret, baby spit-up, onions and garlic, lavender lotion, sandalwood sometimes, sweat sometimes. Hmm, maybe I do need a new me!

No, I don't think so. I'm comfortable the way I am. I've made attempts in the past to get into the habit of applying makeup (real makeup, powder, liner, base what have you, not just mascara) and perfume. But I've never tracked down the perfume I really like (it's the one that smells fresh and outdoorsy, light, springy like freshly washed hair, not heavy and sticky and snooty like some patron of the arts). And I've never really gotten the hang of the makeup thing. I can barely remember to moisturize. I definitely identify with Picabo Street, a chapstick kind of girl.

Anyway, while I was lying on the heated table wrapped in a terry cloth towel listening to some vaguely Christmassy choir/classical/trance music and feeling fairly claustrophobic at the scrutiny I knew my pores were under I did have a flash of entitlement. Vanity. I try not to be vain. I don't want to feel like the world revolves around me. I want to have healthy humility. And this facial business on encourages exactly the opposite reaction. Why is it so different than a massage? I don't know. Only that when I'm face down on a table having my muscles squeezed I'm not led to think about how I deserve to spend I-don't-even-know-how-much on a face cream with more "active ingredients" (as my spa technician recommended I look into). I usually just feel grateful that I have access to someone who knows how to push the evil out of my arms and legs and joints while silently vowing to start stretching so that next time it doesn't hurt so much.
So now I know. Facials don't do me any favors. Even ones with muy baja frequencia electrodes or whatever that Ultimate Lift machine was supposed to have.