Sunday, March 4, 2007

Hey, That's My Face You're Talking About

I went for a facial today. My first since moving to LA. It was long overdue. I'd been asking friends for recommendations and every place they mentioned was on the west side. So I finally hauled my butt to West Hollywood for an hour and a half of non-relaxation.

I was prepared for stinging masks and painful extractions, but I wasn't expecting my facialist to say that I had ... acne. Say what? Now, I don't know what the clinical, official definition of acne is, but I think it means really seriously bad skin. Hormones are raging and I just got braces, bad skin. You can imagine the outrage I felt while she was studying my pores under that blindingly bright magnifying glass.

Then I thought that English must be her second or third language and she really didn't mean it. She really meant blemished. I could live with that, so I forgave her. Then she said she thought I was 25. So then I almost started to like her. This really isn't so bad. I'll probably be back.

3 comments:

Adrienne said...

Good grief drive all that way just to be insulted? Heck you can be insulted right in Burbank. Try Polished in the Burbank Empire center. They always do a good job, and they don't talk!

junebee said...

I like Adrienne's comment!

creative-type dad said...

See that's why men don't get facials or "manly" men....like myself
We just rub our faces with motor oil and rinse with Ajax.
Then use a power steamer to rinse the driveway and the face.

But on the other hand, I wouldn't mind somebody telling me that I look like I'm 25. I'd settle for 30.