I have spent more on beauty products in the past week than I have in the past year. After my spa morning ended and I was left with the rare and glorious freedom of a free afternoon, I stepped into the Sephora at the mall. I had been asked by both the masseuse and the esthetician about my skin care regimen and I stumbled and stammered over my answers. I don’t really have one other than a generic foaming scrub and generic lotion, to which my Russian esthetician said, “Disss is why your skin has praawb-lems!”
So I was already on a beauty high and since there was no way I could afford to incorporate a high-end facial into my normal lifestyle, I figured some at-home care would suffice.
I slowly paced the brightly lit aisles, my eyes glazing over the fragrances of vanilla, amber, and jasmine. Rows of hyper-color pigments and shiny glosses. I settled on the skincare section and picked up a Clarisonic, a fancy motorized brush that transforms your skin into diamonds and glitter. As I was reading the contents, a salesguy appeared and let out a high-pitched, “Hiiiii! Are you finding everything okay?”
I nodded. He pointed to the box and said, “Oh Clarisonic is best! It’s like an orgasm for your face!” I didn’t have a chance to tell him my face was raised Catholic and if it experiences an orgasm, it needs to shower immediately because that’s DIRTY. Then my face would have to drive her mother to JC Penney because capri pants with the elastic waistband are on sale and if my face doesn’t do it, then obviously she doesn’t love her mother and might as well schedule the funeral with Father Jose because mama-san is already a dead woman!
Before I could convey any of that, the salesguy stepped in closer, lowered his voice to a whisper and said, “And the body brush is supposed to help with your thighsssss!” I recognized the move he pulled, the one step toward me to share something out of public earshot. What is it about my face that says, this woman can take what I’m about to say? This woman probably knows dirty jokes and celebrity gossip and prices of buffets in the area. She will be unshaken.
Once my gym offered a free personal training session and the trainer, a female bodybuilder, was telling me about the benefits of exercise and I forget what she said except for the moment she stepped in closer to me and said in the same hushed tone, “It will help your bowel movements.” And what could I say to that? Eagerly nod and go, “Yeah buddy! I can’t wait to welcome that development into my life!”
So there you go! I am the receiver of cellulite whispers and poop advice. Happy Wednesday to me!