There is something about going to the spa and getting my hair done that gives me the best feeling. The process is a bit laborious because I have long, slightly insane hair. It likes to rebel and declare its independence from things like hairspray and hair ties on a regular basis. But afterward, when I run my fingers through my hair, and it feels silky and shiny—ahh, heaven.
While I would love – oh, yes, love – to go to the spa every week for blowouts, facials, and manicures – it is just not in the budget. This girl’s got to eat! Priorities people.
So I have designed a spa sign for our bedroom door. When I need some physical pampering, I put up the sign and lock the door. I place relaxing music on Pandora (lots of instrumentals and nature sounds) and remember to breathe and relax as I use face masks and hair oil treatments.
When I need some physical pampering, I put up the sign and lock the door. Why do I lock the door? Any and all treatments limiting movement and facial recognition definitely don’t need to be witnessed or photographed by family members, friends, spouse/boyfriend.
Do any of them work and make me look younger and reduce the signs of aging? Not really and not immediately, but—in this case— that is not the point. They make me feel pampered and beautiful, and, bonus, they make my skin so soft and smooth—all good things and totally worth the 30 minutes and the $15+ for said products.
Why do I lock the door? Well, with a lot of these treatments, I often look like the main characters from The Mummy Returns or The Swamp Thing. The masks are usually green or brown and cover my entire face, forcing me to breathe through my mouth. A few masks are made of hydrogel – a clear, somewhat gummy plastic – with holes for mouth and eyes. I scare myself when I look in the mirror wearing one of those things. It is just creepy.
Also, you can’t move well. With pedicures, there is the “heel waddle.” which means precariously balancing on your heels as you force your toes up and off the carpet as you walk. Then, there is the “face tilt” so that whatever is currently smeared or resting on your face won’t slide off and fall to the floor. For it to be truly effective, you walk around as if you are surprised by the ceiling, mouth partially open and eyes wide. Hand treatments seem easier because you put on what look like oven mitts and sit with your hands in your lap, but then…you have to go to the bathroom. Awkward.
Bottom line: Any and all treatments limiting movement and facial recognition definitely don’t need to be witnessed or photographed by family members, friends, spouse/boyfriend.
I learned this lesson when Handsome walked in and found me with silver plastic baggies over my hands and feet, a white Biore strip on my nose, and my hair covered in a shiny goo. His response, “Halloween was weeks ago!?”
Men don’t seem to understand how ugly we are willing to get for beauty treatments. At least he didn’t scream or jump away from me. I guess I’m not quite as bad as those movie monsters…yet.
So privacy isn’t just a want; it is a necessity.