I have been abraded.
While it sounds like something that might come after a motorcycle accident or a slide into home plate, it was actually something quite nice, luxurious even.
In that ever-hopeful, rarely fulfilled quest for the skin of a 25-year-old, I treated myself to a microdermabrasion treatment.
What I was hoping for was a serious renovation of my face. I know there’s another face down there somewhere with tiny pores and maybe even some elasticity left.
What I was truly wishing for was to leave a good deal of my current face at the shop and take home only the really new part.
Apparently, for that kind of magic, I need to consider more harsh and more expensive treatments. I always set my sights a little too high, but all things considered, it was one heck of a facial.
She steamed and creamed, poked and massaged and finally, carefully and professionally, gave me a mini-sandblast with a rather fascinating machine that did leave my face feeling like a baby’s bottom.
I can’t truly say how I look now, but my friends have been very kind. They insist I look refreshed and renewed and who am I to argue?
What I probably need to do is avoid that 800-times-lifesize magnifying mirror I use every morning.
I suspect no matter how many layers of face I might lose, in that mirror I would still see the surface of the moon reflecting back at me.
But the abrasion treatment was only part of my afternoon pampering and it was grand. My face-fixer massaged my neck and shoulders, covered me with hot towels and rubbed vitamin E into my face.
I don’t care nearly as much about how I look as how I feel, and I left there feeling simply decadent and even relaxed. Now that’s an accomplishment.
I got an extra surprise when she couldn’t stand to leave my ignored eyebrows in their untidy state. Who knew? I don’t believe I have even looked closely at my eyebrows since my children were born.
She trimmed, plucked and waxed until they actually had a shape. It was amazing. It almost made me want to put on makeup.
I really need a keeper. Perhaps every woman does. We should just pair up. We can’t look at ourselves and really tell what looks best. Just notice some of our clothes and hairdos and that becomes painfully obvious.
We see ourselves too often and use those magnifying mirrors I mentioned earlier. We can’t be impartial. It’s always better through the eyes of someone else, who can assess you at arm’s length with a fashion-conscious eye.
Until I get that in place, I will stick with the occasional sandblasting and take my aesthetician at her word. She insisted I looked really good for my age.
At this age, that will do nicely.
Jean Gillette is a freelance writer who feels fine and looks good enough. Contact her at [email protected].