Basically a Spa Day
On Friday, I went to the dermatologist in an effort to get my facial imperfections under control. (FYI "facial imperfections" is a classy way of saying "acne from Hades" because, you know, I'm a classy broad) Good ol' Pimple Popper, M.D. gave me a prescription for two topical medicines that she thinks will simultaneously clear up my acne and make my face as dry as the Sahara desert. I am guessing that with my dermatological luck, I'll have disgustingly dry skin while still having fun little visitors on my face at all times. I'm nothing if not optimistic. She also suggested that I get a few microdermabrasion treatments in an effort to speed up the effectiveness of the medicines. I was working from home on Monday so I decided that I'd make an appointment to go over my lunch break since nobody would see me for the rest of the day and the doctor warned me that I'd be a little red after the session.
I was feeling pretty confident on Monday morning--I was finally on a skincare regimen that a doctor prescribed and I felt like I was being proactive (no pun intended) in trying to make my skin look like that of a grown up lady attorney and not a 15 year old boy mathlete. I was even going in for a fancy microdermabrasion session to jump start my life of clear skin. All was right with the world.
Admittedly, I was kind of looking forward to the microdermabrasion. When I made the appointment with the esthetician, I had visions of other estheticians offices I had visited for facials and other relaxing and pampering experiences. I walked into her office and smelled the delicious and relaxing scent of eucalyptus and as I settled into the comfortable bed for my treatment, I thought, "This isn't half bad, getting a beauty treatment and not feeling guilty about it since it's not just a random splurge." I was excited for my hour of R&R.
HOLY MOTHER OF PEARL WHY THE EFF DID NONE OF YOU WARN ME ABOUT MICRODERMABRASION!?!?!?!?!?!
Seriously, you guys. Seriously.
As tiny crystals scraped the heck out of my delicate little epidermis, I suddenly thought that acne wasn't so bad and maybe I was just overreacting to the fact that I couldn't go out in public without a 30 minute makeup application/camouflage session and perhaps I just needed to give it more time and LADY, I AM ABOUT TO GRAB YOUR HAND AND THROW YOUR DEVIL CRYSTAL WAND ACROSS THIS ROOM!!!
You guys, it was the worst. It was the actual worst.
So maybe I don't have the highest tolerance for pain. Maybe I was the girl who, when they asked me on a scale of pain from 1 to 10 when I wanted my epidural with my son, I replied, "At a 0." Maybe I am not the best reviewer of this process but, no. Never. Don't ever let baby crystals come close to your cheeks, you guys. Just don't let it happen.
I was crunching my toes up and pointing my feet and wringing my hands and the poor woman eventually had to tell me to breathe. Because I forgot. Because of the demon crystals. I kept asking her, "How much longer?" The first time she replied, I was ready for her to tell me that we were almost wrapped up--that the 60 minute session was almost over. When she replied, "About 50 minutes" I'm pretty sure that somewhere, an angel lost its wings. She kept assuring me that we could stop but heck no! Do you know how much those freaking sessions cost? I was getting my money's worth! I didn't care if it did feel like tiny hornets stinging my face over and over again, I would press on. I would power through. I would make it all 60 minutes of this. I am brave like that, you guys. I'm really an inspiration.
So inspirational, in fact, that when she informed me that I would need to schedule another session within the next week in order to maximize the acne-fighting benefits of microdermabrasion, I lied. Just flat out lied. Told her there was a good chance I could be pregnant and that I knew that you weren't supposed to do these sessions when you were pregnant so I better wait until I know for sure. Y'all, I'm not pregnant. Not at all. The tequila shot I took last night to rid myself of the terrible memories from the microdermabrasion session confirms it. My uterus is plenty empty, but I wasn't telling her that. I would tell her I was going on a trip to Jupiter tomorrow so I wouldn't be able to schedule another session if it meant those crystals of pain would never touch my face again. Inspirational, I tell you.
So I may have been a smidgen over-dramatic about my microdermabrasion session. But the fact of the matter is, I'm done. Four sessions my left foot! I will never step foot in that office again. I'll just scrub my face really, super hard every night when I wash it. That's basically microdermabrasion, right? Twice up the barrel, once down the side, you know? Next time I complain about my acne, feel free to remind me that I had the chance to get it all cleared up. And I chose to leave those acne-healing crystals right where they belong: in hell.
Admittedly, I was kind of looking forward to the microdermabrasion. When I made the appointment with the esthetician, I had visions of other estheticians offices I had visited for facials and other relaxing and pampering experiences. I walked into her office and smelled the delicious and relaxing scent of eucalyptus and as I settled into the comfortable bed for my treatment, I thought, "This isn't half bad, getting a beauty treatment and not feeling guilty about it since it's not just a random splurge." I was excited for my hour of R&R.
HOLY MOTHER OF PEARL WHY THE EFF DID NONE OF YOU WARN ME ABOUT MICRODERMABRASION!?!?!?!?!?!
Seriously, you guys. Seriously.
As tiny crystals scraped the heck out of my delicate little epidermis, I suddenly thought that acne wasn't so bad and maybe I was just overreacting to the fact that I couldn't go out in public without a 30 minute makeup application/camouflage session and perhaps I just needed to give it more time and LADY, I AM ABOUT TO GRAB YOUR HAND AND THROW YOUR DEVIL CRYSTAL WAND ACROSS THIS ROOM!!!
You guys, it was the worst. It was the actual worst.
So maybe I don't have the highest tolerance for pain. Maybe I was the girl who, when they asked me on a scale of pain from 1 to 10 when I wanted my epidural with my son, I replied, "At a 0." Maybe I am not the best reviewer of this process but, no. Never. Don't ever let baby crystals come close to your cheeks, you guys. Just don't let it happen.
I was crunching my toes up and pointing my feet and wringing my hands and the poor woman eventually had to tell me to breathe. Because I forgot. Because of the demon crystals. I kept asking her, "How much longer?" The first time she replied, I was ready for her to tell me that we were almost wrapped up--that the 60 minute session was almost over. When she replied, "About 50 minutes" I'm pretty sure that somewhere, an angel lost its wings. She kept assuring me that we could stop but heck no! Do you know how much those freaking sessions cost? I was getting my money's worth! I didn't care if it did feel like tiny hornets stinging my face over and over again, I would press on. I would power through. I would make it all 60 minutes of this. I am brave like that, you guys. I'm really an inspiration.
So inspirational, in fact, that when she informed me that I would need to schedule another session within the next week in order to maximize the acne-fighting benefits of microdermabrasion, I lied. Just flat out lied. Told her there was a good chance I could be pregnant and that I knew that you weren't supposed to do these sessions when you were pregnant so I better wait until I know for sure. Y'all, I'm not pregnant. Not at all. The tequila shot I took last night to rid myself of the terrible memories from the microdermabrasion session confirms it. My uterus is plenty empty, but I wasn't telling her that. I would tell her I was going on a trip to Jupiter tomorrow so I wouldn't be able to schedule another session if it meant those crystals of pain would never touch my face again. Inspirational, I tell you.
So I may have been a smidgen over-dramatic about my microdermabrasion session. But the fact of the matter is, I'm done. Four sessions my left foot! I will never step foot in that office again. I'll just scrub my face really, super hard every night when I wash it. That's basically microdermabrasion, right? Twice up the barrel, once down the side, you know? Next time I complain about my acne, feel free to remind me that I had the chance to get it all cleared up. And I chose to leave those acne-healing crystals right where they belong: in hell.
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