Me Naked. As a Woman of a Certain Age.
Okay. It’s my face naked.
As I approach — well, as I have attained — woman-of-a-certain-age status, I am a firm believer of treating yourself to regular facials and peels.
Now I talk a big game about getting regular facials but it wasn’t till my dear friend Jules of the Yules Speyer opened her spa Pure Bliss that I became intimate with professional skin care in all its wonderfulness.
She gave me the bad news.
“Jamie, we have to operate.”
No. It wasn’t that bad but she did say my skin was very dehydrated.
The cure?
To be submerged for three hours in a large tank in back of the spa, also used on Sunday by the Madison Full Gospel Baptist for dunking.
No silly.
A cranberry scrub facial.
So I said a goodbye to good friend Diana – warning her that she may not recognize me in all my youthfulness when I emerge.
And went back for my scrubbing.
Is this how mummies get their start?
The massage is the best part.
LOVE it.
And I’m really wondering where all that dark hair on my head came from. That was my hair color 20 years ago.
Jules did a bunch of other age-diminishing feats (all that felt wonderful.)
And then it was over.
So very sad.
Like a child when I used to go to McDonalds and that last french fry was consumed.
Going to McDonalds used to be a big time. A real treat. (For I am old and remember the first McDonalds I ever dined in. Chances are if you actually remember the first McDonalds opening in your town you probably are also need constant rehab skin care.)
Here I am on my way out.
Yes. I had to pay.
Which I was glad to do because I’m now unrecognizable.
Twenty years younger I tell you.
What about you? Facials bliss or no?
