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.


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" 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.