Full Facial

Men, I have been to a cold, dark place that was actually quite warm and inviting – but cold and dark in the sense that anything awful is cold and dark.

Specifically, I have been to a day spa for a facial. Lest you fall victim to the same nightmare, read on.

My fiancé, firm of the belief that since she has to look at my face that it should be as pleasant as possible, bought me a facial for Christmas.

Now, if you are a man and anything like me, you probably imagined a facial was something where a large man spewed his man soup all over a face. Not so! Apparently, there is an alternate definition of facial – specifically a sort of cleansing of the face.

“It will open up your pours,” I was told.

I imagined an older lady named Clarice would rub some alcohol or hydrogen peroxide on my face, slap my ass, call me Betsy and send me on my way. If only!

The first thing that happened was that I had to lie down under a blanket with my shirt off on this warm water bed like thing. So far so good.

Then the facial lady came in, and she was cute. For a moment, I imagined that I was going to give her the other kind of facial and that this was some sort of test from my fiancé.

Nope. The cute lady set up a steamer near my face which proceeded to blast me with superheated steam for the next hour.

Then she rolled over this enormous magnifying glass with powerful lights. Rolled it right over my head. She really wanted to get a close look at my pours.

Well, since I’ve never had a facial, she was a little grossed out by what she saw. I could tell this because her face was magnified too as she was watching me and it contorted with horror.

She sloshed some creams and oils on my face, put on a pair of rubber gloves and – here is the money shot – started squeezing and prodding ever pour on my face. If these had been zits, she would be popping them. As it stood. She managed to squeeze out solid oil crap from nearly every inch of my forehead and nose.

And when I say ‘squeeze,’ I do not mean gently. I mean with manly strength. Imagine an angry ex girlfriend jabbing her nails into your forehead again and again and again. Now imagine you being unable to stop her from doing it since you paid her to do it and since you didn’t want to appear like you were a total wuss.

Anyhow, after an hour of this, she rubbed something that felt like battery acid on all squeezed areas, shook the oil off of her gloves with a mighty SPLORT and proclaimed me cleansed.

I confess, my skin looked a lot better after and I smelled like mint.

So, there you have it. Another mystery of womanhood out in the open.

They put up with more pain and horror to look beautiful than we do to show off. No wonder they don’t think Jackass is funny. They live with much, much worse shit than getting your nipples bitten by a baby crocodile.

  1. Awesome Joey! Maybe next Christmas she’ll get you a Pap smear & throw in a bukkake for free =)

    *disclaimer* It’s not gonna smell like mint >:O

  2. The second she says “Let’s get a Dirty Sanchez,” call the whole thing off.

  3. John on January 4, 2007 at 8:55 am said:

    The second she says “Let’s get a Dirty Sanchez,” call the whole thing off.

    FYI – code word: mud bath.

    be afraid Joey, be very afraid…

  4. Loved your entry, I’ve never actually heard of a facial being described in this way…lol

  5. Should’ve traded the facial out for a massage. Professional massages are pretty much the best thing that exists in the world… and I include both steak and sex in that statement.

  6. “It will open you pores” … well that line works for both types of facial then!