Over the weekend I went to a Berkeley Springs spa with my Mom for a facial and a massage.
Both of these are kind of a big deal for me. Why? Well, I’m glad you asked.
Because I hate people touching me.
I’m not touching you. I’m not touching you. I’m not touching you.
That doesn’t bother me. Why? Because no one’s touching me. Duh.
I have serious issues with strangers anyone besides Kiefer touching me, coming close to touching me, think about touching me, or being in my personal space. In particular, I hate when people touch my shoulder/collar bone region.
Anyways, back to the spa…I’ve had a facial once before. I hated it. So why get another one? Because my mom loves them. And sometimes being a good daughter means letting someone touch your face.
If you’ve never had a facial, here’s a quick summary. Keep in mind that your eyes are closed (so stuff doesn’t get in them), so you never know what’s approaching your face.
- Each hot or cold towel made me jump off the table.
- My hearing became magnified like I was a superhero. I swear I heard a dentist’s drill.
- Then what I thought was a dentist’s drill actually was a floor buffer. But she put it on my face!Maybe a face buffer. Either way a motor and buffer was involved.
- The lady massaged my hands and feet. Which was nice except my left foot is ticklish. Yes, only my left foot.
- One of the lotions she rubbed on my face smelled like paint-flavored tea.
However, in the end, my face felt as smooth as a baby’s buffed bottom.
Next up was the massage.
- Except for my underoos, I was laying under a sheet completely nekkid. Awk-ward.
- I forgot to shave my legs. Oops. (Since I’ve had laser hair removal on my legs, there’s not much hair left, and what’s left is pretty fine, but still.)
- When I got up, I had lines all over my face from being face down on the head rest.
I wasn’t impressed with the massage. I thought massages were supposed to apply some pressure. I received a glorified back rub. I could have achieved that by rubbing my back against a wall thank-you-very-much.