I had a facial two days ago.

Not the money shot variety. If you have no idea what the hell I’m talking about, Wikipedia will explain it all in full details: “Money Shot“.

I went for a facial at a beauty parlour.

With my Dad.

Not exactly the most manly father-son bonding activity. But there is a reason how my dad and I ended up having facial at a beauty parlour.

It all started with my mom (as situation like this are wont to). I was helping out my mom and younger sis as they were moving to a HDB flat (an apartment) that my parents rented recently. As the son, I was there to do the grunt work. Actually, I didn’t do much, the movers did most of the grunt work. I just stood there, scratching my butt and ‘supervised’ them.

Anyway, after moving into the new flat and rearranging some of the furniture according to my mom’s instructions, I flopped down on the couch and started to bum about.

Just then, my mom walked pass and for some reasons, she did a double take, walked towards me and said:

“Zareth, I think you should go for a facial.”

I gave my mom a quizzical look and asked her why.

“Well, I think a facial should be good for you.”

I shrugged and mumbled that I was “fine with anything” (my usual response) and continued staring at the ceiling with comatose eyes.

“OK,” mom said, “you really want a facial?”

I never had a facial before and some of the Youtube videos I saw had people comatose with pleasure from receiving facials. Actually, I never had a massage, a facial, or a spa treatment before. I did have a foot reflexology in Penang but that was done at the hotel poolside and not in some air-conditioned, dimmed room. And armchair massagers don’t count.

So I thought, what’s the harm in a facial? I get to pamper my skin, enjoy an hour of pure comatose bliss and come out feeling refresh.

So I agreed to have a facial.

My mom told me that she signed up for a package deal where she was given three facial treatments. She used up one facial treatment and did not have the time to use the other two. So she offered me one facial and the other one for my dad since “he could do with some facial treatment too”.

So I got a free facial treatment courtesy of my mom.

Two days later, I got a call from her saying she had booked my dad and I for the facial treatments at 1pm. I admit I was looking forward to it since it was my first facial.

So I met up with my dad and we both headed to the beauty parlour.

When we got there, I felt slightly awkward as the majority of the clients were women. Fortunately, my dad and I were led to separate rooms for our treatment. In the small room, there was a bed, a mirror, a small dressing table and a shower stall. Since it was my first facial, I stood beside the bed like a noob, wondering if I should get on first or wait for the beautician to come in.

I decided to wait for the beautician.

She came in a few minutes later and motioned me to lie on the bed. I got on the bed and the beautician covered my entire body with a large towel.

If you are wondering, no, I did not have to strip. I’m just having a facial, not an entire body massage. I got onto the bed fully clothed.

Anyway, the beautician wrapped another towel around my hair and proceeded with the treatment.

She started off with some cooling lotion to cleanse my face.

Hmmm…… it felt nice.

The sensation of the cotton pads and the cool lotion on my entire face soon put me into slumberland.

It continued for a few minutes before she moved on to do some light exfoliation on my skin. It felt great too. By then, I felt my skin was throughly cleansed.

After the exfoliation, she applied more lotion on my face, massaged it around and swapped it off with cotton pads. This continued for the next few minutes.

Lotion.

Massage.

Cotton pads.

Lotion.

Massage.

Cotton pads.

I had no idea what the lotion was or why it was needed to be applied numerous times. But it felt great and I was not going to stop the beautician.

By then, I was looking like this:

That is obviously NOT me. I got it from Google Pictures.

After all that lotion, massaging and cotton pads, the beautician laid two thin cotton pads on my eyelids. I was wondering why she needed to place cotton pads on top of my eyelids when I ‘felt’ or rather, ‘saw’ the lights of the room became brighter. Why did the beautician need such bright lights? What was she going to do next?

I was going to find out soon.

I felt the beautician’s fingers wrapped around my nose. With a firm force, she squeezed the tip of my nose.

What the…

Then I felt the prick of a needle.

Oh….. I see.

She was squeezing out my whiteheads and blackheads.

I actually felt slightly offended.

That was because the day before I used a blackhead strip. I have a slight problem with blackheads and that necessitates me to use blackhead strips every now and then. If the beautician could still find blackheads on my nose, it means the strip wasn’t doing a good enough job.

Oh well, at least the beautician will do the cleaning-up.

The beautician continued her routine for a few minutes. Squeeze, poke. Squeeze, poke poke poke. It was uncomfortable but the pain was still tolerable.

Until she moved onto my forehead.

Ever since I started keeping my hair long, I’ve been battling with pimple problems on my forehead. Of course, the beautician saw it as her duty to burst every, single, damn pimple. No matter how small they were, she was going to hunt them down.

It was pure, pure torture.

For 15 minutes, FIFTEEN minutes, actually I think it was much longer; the beautician squeezed, prodded, poked and popped every god damn pimple. She worked with meticulous efficiency, from my forehead, to my cheeks and then to my nose again and down to my chin and jawline.

I was in great agony by this time. I remembered thinking: “I didn’t sign up for this! I didn’t sign up to be tortured!”

My hands became cramped from the tension and my jaws ached from clenching my teeth. Worse still, my face felt on fire.

Yet, the beautician worked on. Every pimple, every whiteheads, every blackheads, every comedones, every single blemish she could find, she went after it.

Who could know that five fingers and a needle would wreck so much havoc?

By then, my eyes were tearing up constantly from the pain. Fortunately, the cotton pads on my eyelids soaked up all the tears. Now I know why they put cotton pads on the eyes.

I think my breath was coming out in sharp, short gasps.

It was that fucking painful.

I’m the type of guy that would never ever burst a pimple. Not even by myself. If I have a pimple, I would just wait it out, probably apply some cream and wait for it to subside.

I think this is how I looked when the beautician popped my pimples:

That is NOT me.

After the beautician was satisfied with popping my pimples, she proceeded to wipe off the blood from my face. Okay, there wasn’t a lot, but at that point of time, I imagined there was a lot.

The beautician then applied a very cooling lotion. After all that popping, my face was on fire, so the lotion was a very welcome reprieve. She did the same procedure again: lotion, massage, cotton pads.

Finally, the torture was over.

I was wrong.

It was not over.

The beautician wiped off the last vestige of lotion from my face. A few seconds later, I felt something warm pressed against my right cheek. At first it felt warm and nice. Then it felt hot and painful.

Then I felt a sharp sting.

Then I smelled a mixture of burning rubber and wait… was that the smell of my skin???

Oh great, so now I’m subjected to having facial burns on my face.

The beautician prodded my face with the burning stick. Up to now, I have no fucking idea what it was because my eyes was closed the entire time and by the time I opened my eyes, the offending instrument was gone. But I remembered the pain. I remembered screaming in my head that this was not what I expected. I imagined a very relaxing facial. Instead I was undergoing something completely different.

Fortunately, the burning procedure only took about a minute. The beautician left the room and came back a while later. This time, she placed a cotton gauze over my entire face.

What was going on now?

My guard was up. Why was a cotton gauze placed over my entire face? Was she going to do more painful treatments on me?

It turned out to be best part of the facial.

The beautician slather a very thick cream over my face. It was extremely cold but pleasant. She went on for a while, applying the cream to my face. After my face was covered in the cream (except the nostrils, I need to breathe), the beautician left and I laid on the bed with the cream on my face slowly solidifying.

When the cream turned into a semi-solid state, it felt heavy. But it was nothing compared to the previous two procedures. So I just laid on the bed, mask on my face and slowly drifted off to sleep.

The beautician came back about 15 minutes later and gently peeled off the cotton gauze and facial mask. When she did that, I never felt my face so clean before.

She then finished off the treatment by cleaning my face with lotion. After my face cleansing, she left the room first while I stood at the mirror, inspecting my mug. I expected my face to be inflamed with ugly, red spots after all the popping and burning but surprisingly, my face looked incredibly smooth and a lot better.

I went out of the room and saw my dad waiting for me in the reception area. After drinking some tea provided by the beautician, she told me that with my long hair, I better use a hairband to keep the hair away from my forehead. Advice that I intend to heed.

After my dad and I left the beauty parlour, my dad asked how my facial was.

“Painful. It was torturing,” I replied.

“Why?”

“The beautician popped every pimple on my face!”

My dad laughed and smugly reply: “I don’t have any pimple on my face.”

Talk about rubbing salt into the wound.

But would I go back for another facial?

Yes, I would. I never felt my face so clean before. But it’s expensive, so I don’t think I’m going for any in a long while.

____________________________________________________________

Song of the day:

“Lay It Down Slow” by Spiritualized

This song is from the finale of “Prison Break”.

I finished watching Season 1-4 of “Bones” within a week and Season 3-4 of “Prison Break” within 4 days. That’s how lazy I have been the past two weeks.

This is Scottie Thompson. I first saw her when she guest starred in Season 4 of “Bones”:

You might recognize her from “NCIS” as Jeanne Benoit or “Star Trek” as Nero’s Wife or the recent series “Trauma” as Diane Van Dine.

I love her eyes.

I seriously need a job.

P.S. What.. the… fuck is wrong with my blog. I can’t control the layout of my post. I’m seriously considering to change the whole theme of blog.

Hmm… maybe that will keep me occupied for a day or two.