Add another event to the list of things I never thought I would do like smoke a cigarette, throw up from drinking, and punch a guy.
Today I got a facial. Hey, whoa. From a spa.
Ellie and I entered the tranquil depths of the ship's spa like we were sneaking away from our husbands and our bridge club for a week to have a "procedure."
But it was not a procedure, just a "treatment." A facial.
Ellie had never had one either.
It was definitely indulgent. Lots of product goes on the face, you are in a nice space and a beautician dressed like a nurse from the 1950s touches you so lightly you fall asleep from the bliss of it all. Pretty great. But at $5/second, kind of dear.
They tell you your skin in dry (duh) and mine put all sorts of goop on me like she was dressing a salad and then did some heat wand to drive the moisture deep. She said.
I left there and looked in the mirror and I was shocked I did not look 22 and just out of college. Damn. (Again "treatment" not "procedure.")
Truth be told, it felt really good and I left inspired to exfoliate more. My friend Jon who I think should look every second of the month that he is older than me, has taken good care of his skin and it shows. He looks great. I have years of sun, smoke and hooch and Irish "melanomacholy" to work through, but this was really a fun start.
Tomorrow we get rolfed!