It's Friday night, and I'm not going anywhere. No siree, I'm staying right here at home. You see, I got a facial. And apparently my skin is much nastier than I ever notice. Day to day I tend to think, "Well, I'm not wrinkled, like my grandma. And I don't have horrific acne, like a 14-year-old. I wear lots of sunscreen. My skin's OK."
Every now and then I think I could use a little pampering. How about a facial? It's not till I go to get a facial that I realize that my skin needs major work. There's nothing relaxing about it -- as a matter of fact, it feels a bit like the facialist is using a scalpel to clean my skin out. I am not exaggerating that -- it feels like I must be spurting blood all over the room. Meanwhile, with all the thrashing and wriggling I'm doing from the pain, I'm surprised she can even get the job done.
But, folks, here is what I learned: You must clean your pores out. If you are thinking, "that pore is already clogged up, if I clean it it will just do it again," you're not realizing that apparently it will just keep adding more gunk to itself until it's as big as craters on the moon. Therefore, they must undergo the extractions. Quit being a baby.
Also, she used what sounds like a bug zapper to electrocute the zit that cropped up today. It was like lightning on my face. It felt funny, and I had to ask if my face was black and smoking where she did it. She assured me it was not. But you recall my post about the gum-laser incident, right? So I couldn't help but be afraid.
Now, my skin is clean and hydrated and feels smooth as a baby's bum, but it's also red and blotchy. That is why I will be spending my Friday night at home. Anyone up for some Facebook Scrabulous?