Buckle up, friends. I have held this in for six long months, debating if I was ever going to share it with anyone. I feel like it is my duty as a woman to share this cautionary tale with you, so here goes nothing.
It was a cold dreary day in December. With Christmas craziness and the obligatory 97 different “holiday” parties to attend, “me time” was falling through the cracks. But one day, a Christmas miracle straight from tiny baby Jesus happened. I found myself with an unexpected two hours where I had to be no where by any certain time. Where did I go, you wonder? Luxury Nail, duh. These cuticles needed some attention and I was too tired to do it myself. This is where the real Nightmare Before Christmas began...
I pulled up and saw they had a permanent sign on the window that said “facial”. I said: “Self... don’t be so judge mental. The sign wouldn’t be permanent if it wasn’t something they did all the time. You could be missing out on the greatest secret since Brazilian waxing” (another blog for another time). We can tell by the title of this blog that I was wrong, but I was just trying to be more open minded. So I asked Tammy when I walked in if I could get a “mani/pedi/and uh... (pointing at the sign) do you do facials?” Boy do I wish I had a screenshot of Tammy’s face when I said that. Should have been a dead giveaway.
After realizing I was making a huge mistake, I should have just said nevermind and that I didn’t have time for all three services. But no. I’m what they call a yes lady, a people pleaser, a real pushover I tell ya. So I was in too deep and going through with whatever the “esthetician” had in store for me. I mean, my pores were the size of Texas so what was there to lose?! 🤦♀️
I went back into the room. There was a furry zebra blanket on the massage table and a boom box cut into the corner of the ceiling. The scariest thing in the room wasn’t the children’s socks and toys on the floor, or the Caboodle sitting next to the sink. It was the steamer on the counter that looked like something I had definitely seen at the Wal-Marts on clearance before. I asked Kim (no I am not being racist, that was her name) if it was perhaps a clothes steamer and not a face steamer? She assured me it was for face. Well shit! Here we go! Yes lady can’t back out now!
I laid down after taking my shirt off (standard for a facial - but there was no way in hell I was losing my bra in that joint) and the torture commenced. It started with a heavy cream with a very familiar smell... hmmmm.... I know it! Oil of Olay. But the knock off kind. Target brand I presume. The “spa service” included lots of slapping and pinching and scalding me with a clothes steamer, with the occasional “you has no wrinkles because I do this to your eyes”. Um, bish I has no wrinkles because I get it from my mama, thanks very much. Don’t take credit for good genes, Kim.
Then it happened. She told me to roll over. I said to my self: “Self... don’t do that.” And immediately followed that little lady’s orders and went face down. She then unhooked my bra and gave me the worst back massage of my life (and I’ve lived with three toddlers so I am a fair judge of shitty massages. I love their guts though. I digress.)
I was lucky I still had on pants, because what happened next, my friends, was nothing short of sexual assault. That tiny Asian woman took her tiny Asian hands and smacked them on the cheeks of my more than tiny ass! I wish I had a screenshot of my face at that magical moment! Then she started shaking it violently back and forth. Kind of like when the pedicure chair goes haywire and makes it look like you are having a seizure when you are just trying to read what the Housewives are bitching about on Twitter. What makes nail salon owners think we like to be shaken like a salt shaker while trying to relax?! Anyways, back to the fiasco at hand. After some chop chop chops down the back of my legs she said to roll back over, put some foot cream on my face and in my hair and sent me on my way. I felt bamboozled. And my dumbass paid only $10 less than what I would have at any real spa for that shit!!
I stole a writing pen to pen to put my greasy, coconut paradise-smelling hair up, put my shirt on, snooped in her Caboodle (I was right! Target of Olay!) and walked out of the room. I have never counted to 60, 60 times before that experience. Longest hour of my life. So what did i do next? Sat down with Tammy and got a manicure because I felt like it shouldn’t be her fault that Kim slept her way through cosmetology school.
Luxury Nail got me good that day, but I can guarantee you they will never have me again. Instead of beating myself up for being a dumbass and not being bold enough to stand up for myself, I am considering this event research and development. You don’t know what you don’t know and now I am able to share my story with all of you. I hope you got a laugh and a lesson out of this one!
#theanxietymom #nailsalon #facial #notthesame #dontrollover