Let me preface this by saying I hate, hate people touching me. I loathe getting pedicures and want to punch the lady who threads my eyebrows in the twat every time I go but I still go.
A couple of weeks ago, on a total whim because apparently someone had slipped me ecstasy and I thought it would be a good idea, I went and got a facial.
I picked the "Gold" facial because it's one of the cheaper ones and I can pronounce the name. The nice, young Indian lady leads me into a small-ish room that is supposed to be decorated so it's relaxing but I'm totally NOT relaxed, especially as I eye up some big dangerous looking machine that's standing next to the table.
Why the hell do they need such a monstrosity in a facial room? I mean, aren't they just going to scrub my face for me and send me on my merry way?
I am the angry facial machine and I'm going to steam the first twelve layers of your epidermis off!! Muhwawawa!!!!
The lady gestures to a tacky, supposed-to-be sexy nightie that's hanging on a hook next to the door. "You put that on," she says.
Aaaand suddenly my panic level jumps up to DEFCON 1.
"I'd rather not," I reply, staring at the garment and wondering how many other women have worn that. The lady looks confused.
"You need to put it on so I can do the shoulder massage."
I tell her I don't want a shoulder massage and she insists, since "I'm paying for it," so I finally decide that it's just easier to put the damn nightie on instead of arguing with the lady. She leaves and I disrobe quickly and put the fucking nightie on and try really hard not imagine hundreds of sweaty diseased women doing the exact same thing. My mind is already racing and she hasn't even started yet.
I always thought they gave you a robe or something, not lingerie that makes you look like a cheap hooker... P.S. the one I wore was so terrible I couldn't even find a picture CLOSE to it.
Oh mah gahd I can't believe I'm wearing this thing. Has it ever been washed? I'm totally going to get the swine flu or mad cow disease from this fucking nightie, I should just leave. No! Normal people do this all the time without having super- sonic meltdowns. I can do this, it's no big, no big...
The internal monologue is still going on when the lady comes back in the room. I'm lying down and she tells me to close my eyes, which I do. Reluctantly. Shit, I can't see what she's doing. What's that noise? I wonder what the hell she's going to be using... I really wish I thought about this whole "closing the eyes" thing before I did this. I mean, she totally could be putting something terrible on my face and I would have no clue. Because my eyes are closed.
When she touches my shoulder I almost jump out of my skin but manage to kind of reign it in, even though I know she felt me get all twitchy.
"Relax," she says as she starts rubbing my neck and chest. Okay, relax, I'm getting a facial, women do this all the time and they love it, stop being weird--whoa! What the hell did she just slop on my chest?! The fuck? Is she rubbing vaseline on my neck? God, I wish I had a sense of smell because I have no clue what she's doing. I should have asked. I'm going to be totally pissed if I paid forty five bucks so some chick can rub vaseline on my... dude, is she going to be touching my boobs? This is a facial for god's sake, WHY is she rubbing my neck?!!??
Finally, she takes whatever goop she was rubbing all over my chest and neck and starts slopping it on my face. She starts massaging my face for a few minutes and the she pauses at my temples and presses down, hard, in some kind of ninja maneuver that I think might actually stop my heart or cause an aneurysm. And then I'll be dead and STILL wearing this fucking nightie. That fails so the lady begins to knuckle sandwich my cheeks and I suddenly realize I've totally stopped breathing. I start breathing again.
"Stop wrinkling your forehead," she tells me. "Relax."
Right, relax, relax, relax... Did she wash her hands before she started touching my face? I don't remember if I saw her wash her hands--I'm totally going to get herpes from this. Wait, is my skin burning? Holy fuck, I think it is!! Ohmygod, my skin is going to melt off and I'm totally going to look like Freddy Krueger and I'm going to be permanently scarred for life. I should just get up and leave... crap, I can't because I'm covered in goop and wearing some stranger's nightgown. This is terrible... relax, relax, relax. It's not terrible, it's probably almost over... can't get any worse then this...
The lady stops pushing on my sinuses and I hear an alarming whirring noise so I crack my eyes open a little just in time to see her point an industrial-sized clothing steamer-thingy at my face and suddenly I'm choking on hot steam.
I totally freak the fuck out and she kind of puts her hands firmly on my shoulders because apparently I was trying to get up to run away. Great, the acid didn't melt my flesh so now she's going to steam it off. Jesus, I CAN'T FUCKING BREATHE, I'm going to suffocate on steam and die... I'M GOING TO DIE IN A CRAPPY SALON!!! I can't believe women do this for pleasure, this is totally a form of torture, WHY did I think this was a good idea? Ugh, I can't breathe and--
"You're wrinkling your forehead again. It's ok, you can relax."
NO I CAN'T FUCKING RELAX, LADY. You're melting my face off and I'm going to die.
I force myself to breathe and realize my hands are now curled into fists as she continues to torture me and knuckle sandwich my face to death. I try to find my happy place.
"Stop wrinkling your forehead," the bitch demands.
Suddenly, she stops kneading my cheeks and begins slapping/karate chopping the shit out of them. I'm beginning to suspect she's enjoying this a little too much and want to punch her. I can't believe she's freaking slapping me!! I bet this isn't part of her massage routine normally and she's totally fucking with me. Oh my god, is this over yet? I can't believe I'm lying here, in a filthy swine-flu sexy nightie, covered in god-knows-what while some chick is slapping me. And I'm paying her to do it! This is totally fucking ridiculous.
And then I start laughing. Because that's the normal reaction to being slapped in face. It must surprise her because she pauses for a second and I have to chant the alphabet in my head to keep from totally guffawing. ABC*giggle, snort*DEFGHohmygahd stop laughing *giggle* dude, STOP *snort* LAUGHING.
Finally, FINALLY, she announces, "Okay all done," in a really relieved voice and wipes my face down and I kind of jerkily sit up and immediately fall off the table. My torturer is eyeing me like I'm totally off my rocker and scurries out of the room so I can change out of the diseased nightie. My heart is pounding and I feel like I just ran a marathon because I'm sweating profusely. I trudge up to the counter, pay and get the hell out of dodge.
When I get home I look at my face in the mirror and realize I have a new pimple forming.
I hate facials.