WHORETICULTURE FRIDAY: Much like NPR’s Horticulture Friday, my Fridays are full of science and industry, specifically in the fields of OBGYNery, the skin we’re in, and other whore-ish related topics.
Oh, how I missed you, Whoreticulture Friday.
In the ten years since I stopped writing the OG blog, I think I’ve missed Whoreticulture Friday the most. I see things ALL THE TIME that would’ve made the Friday blog, but instead of sharing them with you I’ve had to chuckle sadly to myself and feel like it was a complete waste of a good joke.
Let’s Recap:
Whoreticulture Friday is pretty self-explanatory. I will write about more spicy topics on Fridays, so if talking about uteri and skin tags and womanly sights and smells isn’t your jam, I’ll see you back on Monday.
Today, I was lured into an unmarked storefront by a stranger on the internet.
I have a significant problem with being easily influenced by ads on the internet. Instagram particularly has my algorithm down PAT. I must’ve been talking near my computer about my sagging skin and marionette lines, and I’ve been desperately missing my esthetician Karla since our move two years ago (I MISS YOU KARLA), so Instagram threw up an ad that said $69 facial in a city near you!
Who can say no to a $69 facial? Not this girl.
I’m not only cheap, I’m easy.
I drive to this purported spa, confidently walk in, and announce my presence.
“Ma’am? This is a Wendy’s.” Actually, ma’am, you’re in the wrong spa. Your spa is the OTHER one with the word “Serenity” in the name and located a mile up the same street.
Ah. Two spas with the same name on the same street. I’m sure I’m the only one who’s made this mistake.
I get to Spa Door #2, and because I’m older I feel like I can Karen the shit out of them. I walk in irritated and announce that they have the same name and address of another spa and that’s why I’m late.
Danny at the counter, with his perfectly trimmed goatee and tan skin gives me a “Thanks Captain Obvious, I don’t need your shit right now” smile and offers a bottle of water. They take a picture of my face and send me to a room likely full of hidden cameras to get naked from the waist up.
A neon sign on the wall in the room says, “LOVE THE SKIN YOU’RE IN.”
Kind of counterproductive: If I loved the skin I’m in, I wouldn’t be here Danny.
The skin I’m in has seen things. Decades of things.
They ask me what I’m trying to accomplish at this appointment. Obviously, I’d like to walk out of here 10 years younger, 20 pounds lighter, with one chardonnay down and one in my hand.
Make it so, Number One.
Chelsea, who had the misfortune of drawing the short straw when I walked in complaining about the business name and location, was an absolute dream.
She softly explained each thing she was doing.
(I’m going to exfoliate your skin now.)
She exfoliated.
(This is a hydrating serum that has Vitamin C.)
She hydrated.
(…and now we’re going to do a lip mask.)
She masked.
(Have you ever tried red light therapy? This is feeding your cells and repairing them.)
She red-lighted.
(And while you have your red light therapy I’m going to massage your arms and hands.)
She massaged.
(I see you have milia - do you want me to try to remove it?)
HELL YES. I venmoed her $30 just for offering.
WHAT THE CLEVELAND CLINIC SAYS ABOUT MILLIA: Milia is a common skin condition that causes small white bumps (cysts) under the surface of your skin. About 40% to 50% of U.S. newborns have milia. Adults can get milia too. Treatment isn’t necessary because milia are harmless and go away on their own. The condition usually only lasts a few weeks.
LIES, CLEVELAND CLINIC. Let me tell you the truth, because we’re friends here. They are not harmless. They don’t go away. Treatment is necessary.
Milia is Forever.
The internet will tell you to lance the milia and pop the little hard white ball out. You should not do that, because you can’t see very well and your hands aren’t as steady as they used to be and you will slice your loose skin and start bleeding all over the place and have to stick small pieces of toilet paper on your face to stop the bleeding and you’ll go to work forgetting you have toilet paper bits on your face but thank God they can’t see the little white collections of dead skin balls on your face because wouldn’t THAT be embarrassing?
Danny then took me as his hostage.
After this dreamy slice of heaven with Chelsea, I unsteadily got off of the table and put my bra back on. Chelsea told me that I had mascara smeared under my eyes and left a small cotton pad for me to wipe it off.
BLESS YOU, CHELSEA. More venmo for you.
When I walked out of the room, sweet, whispering Chelsea had disappeared and tight-faced, crisply-goateed Danny met me in the hallway. He took me to a holding room and shut the door, where he asked about my facial. I knew he was going to try to sell something, and that he would be disappointed, but had to take care of my girl Chelsea, so I raved about how great she is.
Danny then told me that his cameras say my 57-year-old face looks 65 and that my hydration and pigmentation are VERY poor and I am very lucky that he is offering me TWELVE treatments over two years for only $150 a month. I assured Danny that my hydration and pigmentation aren’t the only things about me that are poor and as much as I love their setup, I wouldn’t be making a two-year commitment to $3600 of facials.
After 15 more minutes in the holding room, Danny gave me a final offer of $130 a month for a year for FOUR treatments. I’m no math whiz, but I’m pretty sure that’s significantly more than the original offer.
I told him I was going to have explosive diarrhea and left.
I’m marking this in the “win” column.
Danny, you may have gotten me in the door (of the wrong salon, initially) and out of my bra, told me I have poor pigmentation and look seven years older than I am, but I got your purportedly $679 facial for $69 AND two free bottles of water.
So, thank you Chelsea, with your liquid witchcraft and laser beams. Because today?
I love the skin I’m in.
Until next time, Gentle Wifers.