my facial

I had my facial this afternoon and I thought I'd share the experience with you so you can live vicariously through me.

First of all, I should tell you that I really hate getting any sort of treatment overseas for the following reasons:
1. The people attending to you never speak English.
2. The people attending to you never speak English.
3. The treatments are never the same as what you get in the US, so you don't really know what to expect, which leads me again to:
4. The people attending to you never speak English.

But I put all that aside and went to my 1pm appointment since a) I had a vision in the shower this morning that today was the day to get a facial, and b) because I succeeded in making the appointment in Spanish (even when I couldn't remember the word for "face", I was able to explain that I wanted a "cleaning of the part of the body that has eyes, a nose and mouth") and c) I'd been able to explain further that I wanted a hydrating facial. I felt like getting the appointment would be the hardest part of the whole process.

I found the salon and was promptly escorted back to the treatment room. I was directed to the bathroom where I was told to change out of my shirt and to put on the gown that was sitting on the counter. Now I don't get these sorts of treatments often - in fact, when she finally started working on me, I realized it has probably been 7+ years since I got a facial - but you would think that I could figure out how to put on the little cover-up thing, right? That would be wrong. It was a hot pink number that looked like a child's dress-up skirt made out of cheap tulle. This skirt was really just a rectangular piece of tulle attached together by one piece of velcro. I came out of the bathroom apologizing for my ignorance and looking like SuperWoman with a cape on. First mistake. The skirt was supposed to go under my armpits not over my shoulders. It all made perfect sense then.

So then I got on the table and the young woman started her work. It all started like any facial that I've ever had. She rubbed some cream around and then wiped it all off. It was all good and familiar.

Then I heard some whirring noise and the next thing I knew - my eyes were closed throughout - there was what felt like a belt sander being applied to my face. It wasn't uncomfortable, just a little disconcerting. And she got a little close to my year-old new eyes which you know I'm very particular about so that made me a wee bit nervous.

After the sanding ended (which seemed to go on a very long time), the next thing I felt was hot, humid air being blown straight on my face. I love the tropics as much as the next guy but it was a little hot and humid and close for comfort. I had to keep reminding myself that I could still breathe so I didn't get panicked. After that blew for a few minutes, she put some more cream on (with the hot, humid air still blowing) and wiped it off.

At that point, I could electronic equipment starting up. There was some beeping that came across louder than the jazz music they had piped in. The lady gave me this metal prod to hold which was attached to a curly cord which was attached to who knows what. At this point I opened my eyes so I could try to figure out what in the world was going on. No such luck.

The lady started rolling what felt like a mini-paint roller all over my face. She asked if there was any discomfort and I said no because there wasn't. I honestly couldn't figure out why this had to be electronically operated. And then she cranked it up a little and holy toledo, the "discomfort" got worse and worse. It felt like little pricks of heat anywhere the paint roller rolled. At this point, I asked her what was the purpose of this machine. And of course, the answer was in Spanish (see answers 1, 2 and 4 above as to why I don't like getting treatments overseas). I understood something about "penetrating" and that was all I got. I told her it felt like the machine was doing its job because the heat pricks were definitely penetrating something, and she excitedly agreed. I still have no idea what the purpose was of the metal prod I was clutching with a death grip, unless it was to hit her with if the pain got to be too much.

The next part of this fun facial afternoon was getting cotton balls covered in some liquid on my eyes - mind the eyes, lady - after which she placed what felt like a sheet of cheesecloth over my face. The cheesecloth had been covered in some liquid but it was all very cooling and didn't bother me. Until she started applying cream all over the cheesecloth which extended from my forehead all the way over my face all the way down my neck to my upper chest. Once she plastered the cream on, the only parts of the cheesecloth that weren't stuck to my face were my nostrils and my eyes. Everything else was glued down. Like plaster of paris. Like she was making some sort of mold of my face. And I lay like that for ages. And more ages. And then another era or two. Until she pulled the whole thing off in one piece like it was a gigantic mold. And then she picked pieces of lint off my face and from my hairline. It takes a special kind of person to be a facial technician.

At this point, I could only focus on three things:

1. What time is it?
2. How much is this going to cost me? Surely more than I thought. I hope I have enough money to pay for this.
2. How red is my face because I have to walk a number of blocks home and I really don't want to look like I've had a dermatological eruption.

She continued on with the rest of her hydrating facial duties and then it was all over (after 1.5 hours of treatment). My facial and neck skin is as smooth as a baby's (except for that red area where a pimple was on its deathbed, but now has been aggravated by assault) and it feels very hydrated. St. Patrick (and St. Joseph) would be happy.