A Tale of Two Spa Days

My blogger mom friend Deb from Urban Moo Cow wrote a post recently about getting a facial and leaving feeling old. It's not true; check out her profile picture. She looks fab. And she runs marathons, but I digress.

I told her she got snowed. I wasn't trying to be mean. I was commiserating. The same thing happened to me…

Behold two tales…one of a facial, the other a massage. Both stories commence in similar fashion: I relax into the hands of a trained professional, and my body releases some of the stress of the day. Forty minutes later, each spa day experience starts to go in a different direction…

My facial conversation:

"Your skin is very dehydrated," the lady aesthetician says.

"Yeah. I should drink more water," I say.

"That's probably what's causing your skin to be so dry…" she says. "And these dark circles around your eyes."

"Oh," I say, starting to feel like a slob, dummy and loser. I begin projecting all kinds of crap into the conversation. She's saying one thing, but here's what I hear:

"Lucky you came in in time, because there's still hope, but just barely. Aveda makes x, y and z that can help with your giant failure to take care of your skin," she says. "Along with this, this and this for the kitchen sink of facial issues you've created for yourself. Oh, and, if you want to stop looking old, here's the other magic elixir for all of those wrinkles and fine lines that are like crevices all over your face."

She brings out a large green jar with great ceremony. It seems surrounded by a glow with heavenly powers. I hear the skies part, along with a violin crescendo. I'm at a crossroads in life --  either buy it, or future generations of my family will suffer the consequences.

An hour later, I leave the store weighed down with a green bag and a heavy heart, plus a resolve to do better by my skin, my country and the world. I feel some sort of moral imperative to exfoliate more.

Contrast that to my massage conversation:

"You carry a lot of stress in your shoulders," the masseuse says.

"Yeah, I have a one year old. I had her when I was older. Some of my stress comes from feeling like I'm too old and tired to keep up with her," I explain.

"Your an older mom?" she says. "How old are you?"

"I'm 45," I say.

"No! Really?" she says. "Your skin looks amazing. I never would have guessed that age and I see lots of skin. What do you use on your skin?

"Coconut oil..." I say. "Like the kind you use to cook with. I know it sounds crazy, but it's cheap and I have really dry skin, so it works for me."

"Wow, I have dry skin too. I'll have to give that a try," she says.

Coo Coo over Coconut Oil

I leave here feeling light as a feather, exactly how I should feel after a massage (and a facial for that matter).

The difference in my two tales? The first woman probably did have a mandate from above -- her superiors. Instill fear in me, shill a bunch of products and add a hefty commission to her meager salary. The second didn't have anything to sell other than her lovely, magic fingers.

Of course, the masseuse was looking for a nice tip; it's possible that money was part of her agenda too. All I know is that I felt much better after the massage. The facial was a different story.

I haven't been back for a facial since. If I ever get another wild hair to go back to Aveda, I've left a green bottle of toner in my medicine cabinet as a cautionary tale.

I mean, come on, I fell for toner? Honestly, I really don't even know what toner is!


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