The Spa Treatment (198th new thing).

November 9, 2011 § 4 Comments

There is a word that for the life of me I cannot pronounce. I think many people have these, words that they know how to spell, define, and even use in a common conversation. Except they can’t say the word, at least not properly. Mine is Aesthetician. In honor of this (but not because of it) I went to a suburban Spa Sydell on Day One Hundred Ninety-Eight and got a facial.

The experience was a mixture of pleasure and pain. Was this the price of beauty? I was met by Guldie, my aesthetician (that word again) and led into a small room with dim lighting, soothing music, and a massage table. She told me to strip down to my undies and tuck myself into the bed, lying on my back. After a few minutes she came back in and began the process.

The torture chamber

First she scrubbed my skin, making small talk about facials and how wonderful the spa was. I explained that this was my first ever facial experience and she convinced me to upgrade to a pumpkin peel. It was totally corporate, this upsell, but I figured I might as well get the whole kit and kaboodle. She turned the steam machine to my face to open up my pores and as she scrubbed I found it difficult to breathe through my nose. This was supposed to be a relaxing activity, but I could see myself having a panic attack. Just when I felt it was all too much, she took away the heat and began the dreaded extractions.

This is the torture part of the facial, where the aesthetican uses special tools to squeeze all the gunk from your blackheads. I must have a lot, because she went to town. I felt my eyes watering uncontrollably and my facial muscles tensed and twitched beneath Guldie’s punctures. She told me I was doing very well and with that encouragement I pointed out any areas she may have missed in her torturous poking. So she looked closely, agreed, and went back to stabbing my face. The term glutton for punishment has never fit me more.

Next came the fancy pumpkin peel. While the mixture sat on my face, Guldie moved to my hands and gave them a massage, oiling them with lotion and inserting my digits into a warm mitt. This was the relaxing part.

Until she made it down to my feet.

I hadn’t worn socks that day and my Toms were quite stinky from all the wear I had been giving them. I wasn’t expecting anyone to come in contact with them and so didn’t prepare for this part of the relaxing massage. I also hadn’t shaved my legs, which Guldie noted and suggested a waxing. Yeah, so much for relaxing. More like total mortification.

In what seemed like only a little bit of time, she finished with my feet (I wondered if she went quickly on purpose) and returned to my upper half, massaging my lymph nodes and commenting how many toxins I must have in my body. I began to wish Guldie would keep her opinions to herself, even if the lymph node massage did feel pretty awesome.

The facial ended not too long after that and Guldie left the room to let me redress. She kept commenting on how great my skin looked and led me to the bathroom to show me the mirror, waiting for my pleased expression (which I dutifully produced). My skin did look pretty good, as far as skin goes.

I paid and headed out, leaving a generous tip for all the pain and suffering Guldie had expressed onto my face.

But really, I don’t think those “extractions” are worth it. I liked the egg white facial I gave myself better. And it’s cheaper.

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