My First Facial: A True Story


After months of cajoling, with much wailing and gnashing of teeth, I was forced to go for a facial session because someone *ahemmomahem* bought too many Groupon deals with expiry dates looming. "OMG you went for a facial?!" is probably what most of you are saying right now, or typing in the comments because you only read up to this point in the post and got bored, followed by "...but your face is so perfect and smooth like a baby's butt!"

I would agree, but since it's something I've never done before ever, I decided to give it a go. Y'know, so I'd have something to write about on this blog. A close friend told me that my life is quite devoid of new experiences, and I have to say now that I'VE GONE FOR A FACIAL, MAN! WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH YOUR LIFE?!

I digress.

Facial First is aptly named because it was the place where I had my first facial. Located in a corner along The Boulevard in Mid Valley City, it oozed a pretty much...oh I don't know, like how a facial saloon would.

    I've never done anything like this EVER and I'm desperately reading up on On hindsight, "oozed" is probably not a good word to use in this instance; you'll find out why in a moment.

    As soon as I walked into the saloon (Spa? Facial place? Whatever you call it...), I was greeted with a thousand volt smile from the lady at the counter. "Fresh faces", she probably thought, putting the pun in punny. "Hello boy. Are you here with your mommy?"

    I nodded blankly, her glaring smile making me forget to be indignant about her treating me like a 5 year old child. All around me, I could see vague shadows of older ladies with barely a wrinkle on their skin, all staring at me like I was an alien from outer space, which in this scenario, I very well could have been. I now know how caged animals feel in the zoo.

    Miss Sunshine brought/dragged me into a small room, sat me down and started rubbing my face with a small vibrator. Or something of the sort. On the screen, images of the ugliest looking skin in the world popped up. Miss Sunshine clicked her tongue plenty of times and tsked throughout the entire ordeal. "You have very dry skin, boy," she said, her million volt smile wavering slightly, "but I can make it better."

    I was then ushered into a small locker room to change out of my clothes into...well, this.

    It was the most embarrassing mirror selfie I ever took.

    After changing into the monstrosity they call a robe, I was greeted outside by the facialist (or whatever you call a person who would do your facial for you), who introduced herself so softly behind her mask that I could only catch whispers of syllables. Which is why I will be calling her Miss Heard for the rest of this story.

    Miss Heard led me into another darkened room and told me to lay face up. As soon as I was comfortably settled into my "bed", Miss Heard slapped on a cold substance and rubbed it all over my face. I couldn't tell what it was, and when asked, Miss Heard ominously replied that "it is only the beginning". She lathered up my face with the stuff, and proceeded to give me one of the best face massages (the only one I ever had actually) in my life. All the while my face was being pleasured, I was thinking to myself, 'if this is what facial is like, I seriously don't mind coming more often.'

    Those thoughts flew away as quickly as they came when Miss Heard washed off the first layer of gooeyness and applied another layer of an unknown substance. If you've ever been bitten by ants, you'll probably understand the feeling of a MILLION ANTS biting into your face simultaneously. Miss Heard took the liberty to put on a blindfold to prevent me from seeing the things biting my face prevent the things biting my face from eating my eyes out. Then she whispered again, "I'll be back in 5 minutes." and left the room.

    Time is relative, and when you have a gazillion ants biting your face off, 5 minutes can seem like an eternity. I swear I took a selfie during this time of torture, and it was one of the ugliest pictures of myself ever taken. EVER. When Miss Heard finally came back and washed off all the ants off my face, I was just sobbing happy tears of joy...

    ...until Miss Heard whispered the following 5 words: "It's time for the extraction."

    I have only cried twice in my life; once when Woody said goodbye to Andy in the ending of Toy Story 3, and another when Miss Heard was digging a needle to widen my pores and then using an iron stick to scrap out the blackheads from my whole face. I was trying to maintain an image of masculinity throughout this facial session, but the tears just kept flowing and flowing. Again, time is relative, so I had no idea how long the whole extraction process took, but it was as though time stopped to laugh at me getting my pores picked while my tears flowed freely.

    The remainder of the facial session passed by in a blur because when you've been to hell and back (like I have), nothing else in the world matters or vaguely even interests you anymore. I remember her rubbing more paste on my face, and then slapping on an ice cold mask to round off the session. The 15 minutes I was having my face frozen off passed by so quickly that I didn't even have enough time for it to heal my needle-picked face.

    The final part of the facial was a face massage, though someone must have pissed off Miss Heard, because unlike the earlier massage of soothing relaxation, this one was violent and pretty much something I'm sure serial killers do to their victims. Miss Heard's last few words to me were "Sit up and brace yourself." before she began to give me a series of backslaps that wouldn't be out of place at the Grand Slam Tournaments.

    I was then quickly ushered out of the torture chamber facial room, my perfectly coiffed hair wild and my clothes crumpled. My eyes were red, busy adjusting to the bright lights of the outside world and my throat was parched after hours of not drinking anything. I had to slap myself a few times before I could feel anything on my face again. But I could feel my face glowing. Literally glowing. It's a feeling I would describe as "is this my skin srsly?"

    Here's a picture of me before and after the facial.

    They managed to make my smooth as a baby's butt face glow like the light of a million stars, and bouncy like Crayon Pop's Bar Bar Bar. I have severely underestimated the power of the facial. And yes, ladies and gentlemen, this is why I'll be eagerly anticipating my next facial session.


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