I wouldn’t think of having a facial. I’m a man. Grrrrr. . . . Snort snort. But I will confess. . . . I had one a few years ago.
I’m still in the dark as to how or why this happened but one Christmas, Lauren and Donna presented me with an envelope. Inside was a coupon for a facial. I remember looking up and saying something like “I can’t have a facial. I’m a man.” Grrrrr. . . . Snort snort. But the two of them looked at each other and giggled. They must have thought that it would be a stitch to see my reaction. Or maybe they thought my face was in serious need of help. Either way, I agreed. And had a facial.
So I went into this spa place and I’m sitting there. With a bunch of women. Yes – of course I was self conscious. But I’m a man . . . . Grrrrr . . . . Sn . . . Anyway. . . .they called my name “MISTER PETERSEN” loud enough for guys in the sporting goods shop next door to hear. I was led into this darkened room and the female “therapist” smilingly had me place my head over a steam thingee. Then she put a towel over my head and told me to “be still.” Hoookayyy. . . . I was “still” for a while. When she came back, she had me lay back and started squeezing heaven knows what out of my cheeks, nose and forehead. Then she wrapped my face in a towel that smelled of something unmanly. After an hour or so, there was a freezing cold towel and I was done. I puffed out my chest and strutted out of the room, through the waiting room and out the door. And exhaled.
I’m sure I’ll never have another facial though I can say without a blink “Yeah – I’ve had a facial. Wasn’t bad. . . ” Grrrrrr. . . . Snort snort. . . .