Girly-Girls

I spent most of last week with Mom, our monthly visit incorporating her monthly doctors’ appointments. Last Wednesday we went to her primary physician (her potassium level has settled down; her blood pressure has finally stabilized–yea!), and Thursday we went to her allergist (oops–retesting means she shouldn’t have had any antihistamines. Why didn’t anyone tell me?!).

Of course, if we’re leaving the house for any reason, we’re required through tradition and growling stomachs to eat out. Meals from Olive Garden, Los Cucos, and–I’m embarrassed to say–McDonalds are all vying for position on my hips and thighs, so it’s no surprise I’ll spend this week adhering to a strict diet.

Oh, wait. Let me stop giggling. Me? Diet for a full week?! Too funny.

Ahem.

Anyway, this visit we did something neither of us have ever done before. Something feminine. Something unbelievably girly. We went for facials.

It didn’t dawn on me when I wrote about this on Facebook that I left folks with the impression that the facial was my idea and my treat. Nothing could be farther from the truth. When I said I “took Mom” to a spa, that’s exactly what I meant–I drove. Frankly, doing something so overwhelmingly girly-girl would never dawn on me. And I’m surprised it dawned on her. It wasn’t my dad who taught me how to shoot and fish, it was my mom. I was a tomboy being raised by a tomboy. Neither of us were particularly girly.I’m still not all that girly. I don’t play with my hair and make-up, don’t lounge in a bubble bath for an hour; I don’t have a clue how to match accessories with my clothes or which pair of shoes work best with an outfit–or even which outfit works best on me. I’m the furthest thing from a fashionista I know. Laugh crinkles and forehead wrinkles don’t bother me–I believe they show character–which means I don’t spend tons of time and money trying to erase time from my face.

So, believe me, I had to warm up to the idea that we were going to let strangers spread goo on our faces, especially when I discovered how much it would cost.

Mom and I were separated, she with her goo-meister and me with mine. The room I was led to was painted a Montana-sky blue, an unusual choice to go with the ocean-wave New Age music floating softly from some invisible speaker. There was a bed-like thing in there, resembling sheets draped over a dentist chair which had been leveled to near-horizontal, and I was told to undress, put on a wrap, and climb in. I was amazed how comfortable it was, and with the soft music and calming surroundings, I nearly fell asleep before Jackie returned and popped the serenity like a champagne cork. Her bubbly personality kept me entertained the entire time she worked on me.

Everything had a scent. Lavender on the towels, rose water for spritzing, cool mint in the variety of things she spread on me. She dampened cotton balls with something, and they remained on my eyes most of the time so I have no clue whether the things she spread on my face were colored. You know what I mean–that sick shade of green that matches the cucumber slices they put on your eyes for TV facials. I remember thinking I should get photos of myself during the facial so we could have a good laugh (I do know how to take pics with my Blackberry–but I haven’t learned how to download them yet. I’ll get to it), but I was too relaxed/restrained to do it.

I have to admit, everything felt so good–gooey, but good. Cold followed by warm; steam followed by spritz; and always, strong massaging hands and fingers on my face, throat, and shoulders.

And my feet! God bless her, Jackie massaged my feet! That’s got to be a form of heaven right there.

But as far as settling in for a soothing experience, I didn’t get to. Jackie talked about things I wanted to hear, and I questioned her to keep her talking, shared stories with her to maintain the conversation, and learned things I haven’t learned before from someone who didn’t mind sharing.

By the time we were done, I felt a bit greasy and far less attractive than I did when I went in and had my make-up on, but I really enjoyed the experience, and Mom did too. We’re planning another trip to the spa. We’re going to get pedicures and have our legs waxed.

Heaven help us. We’re turning into girly-girls.

About Linda W. Yezak

Author/Freelance Editor/Speaker (writing and editing topics).
This entry was posted in Personal. Bookmark the permalink.

10 Responses to Girly-Girls

  1. Linda, sounds like a lot of fun hanging out with your mom!

    Like

    • Linda Yezak says:

      Thanks for the comment, Karen. Yeah, Mom’s always been a lot of fun. I miss some of the things we used to do together.

      Like

  2. K.M. Weiland says:

    Glad your mom’s doing better!

    Like

  3. Sally Bishop says:

    Points to you both for enjoying yourselves. My mom and I enjoy getting pedicures when we are together. It’s fun to sit and let others pamper us both. A wonderful treat, glad you both enjoyed it.

    Like

    • Linda Yezak says:

      Thanks, Sally. We did enjoy it–something neither of us have ever done. It’s as close to “adventurous” she can get these days!

      Like

  4. Jess says:

    Oh Linda! this sound horrible to me, but I’m not one who wants to be touched by strangers. 🙂 Glad your mom is doing better and I love how you two have fun together.

    BTW, my Blackberry takes horrible pictures–not as good has my hubby’s iPhone, but when I take them, I just email them to myself.

    You’re such a fun girl! You always make me laugh.

    Like

    • Linda Yezak says:

      Now that I’ve bought my Blackberry, I keep hearing how much better the IPhone is. Sigh.

      Thanks for coming by!

      Like

  5. I had a facial. I loved it! Until my facialmeister asked if I wanted my upper lip waxed. 😛

    Like

Talk to me--I love comments!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s