tickled by a magic pen.... or something.....

Today I got tickled by a magical pen after I was caressed by a total stranger. Nothing weird about that. Right?

I'd booked myself in for a technologically advanced facial, with microdermabrasion, light therapy, and a massage. I've never had a facial before, but desperate times call for desperate measures. And if you saw me just after I rolled out of bed this morning you would know. The times, friends, they are a-desperate.

I walked into the salon and was introduced to my 'facialist' (as opposed to, say, my 'bottomlist'). Elizabeth was very friendly and asked me if I would like to use the toilet before my treatment (so, quite possibly, she actually was a bottomlist as well).

When I returned from my toilet trip, Elizabeth told me to relax, and then instructed me to take off my top. This surprised me as I assumed that, given that this was a 'facial' and not, say, a 'breastial', that Elizabeth would be working on my face. Apparently, however, she would be working on my shoulders too (which I guess made her a shoulderlist) and needed access to my 'decolletage'.

The first part of the facial wasn't so bad. Elizabeth cleansed my face with some kind of industrial strength potion, and then scraped a really rough rolling pin over my skin. This was, apparently, the 'microderm' portion of the treatment, and had something to do with exfoliation. It was scratchy and sandpapery and felt most uncomfortable and I enjoyed the process immensely. 

MAKE IT STOP!

Then came the facial massage. Elizabeth tilted my head back and caressed my face gently all over in delicate circular motions. It was healing and loving and caring and nurturing and it made me want to run and scream. For - as I remembered at the exact moment Elizabeth started the massage - I cannot stand people touching my face. Unless you're one of my kids, or actually having sex with me (which, depending on how many readers I currently have, rules out at least 50% of you), I do not want your hands on my facial skin. There's no deep psychological reason. I just don't like it. I'd rather you touched my bottom. And quite frankly, I don't want you touching my bottom at all.

Of course, Elizabeth didn't know that, and kept on with her rubbing. And, because I'm so passive in the hands of beauty professionals, I let her do it. Really, I'm pathetic. The woman could have started shaving my head, or tattooing my chest with a giant panda, and I would have just sighed inwardly and said nothing.

To my relief, Elizabeth stopped massaging after about 15 minutes and began the next part of the session. This was the most important part of the treatment, the part that would radically change my skin for the better. The Pulsing Light Therapy (or, you know... words to that effect).

Elizabeth put patches over my eyes so I wouldn't be blinded by the light (or revved up like a deuce, another runner in the night). And then I lay on my back for about 30 minutes while she trailed something that felt like a slim metal pen all over my face as an important 'beep beep beep' sounded rythmically in my ears.

Now, presumably that pen did something special and magical, because I now look far better now than before the treatment. (Sadly that last stanza was a lie. I actually look exactly the same now as before, but as I paid lots of money, I'm not going to admit it.) Still, as I lay there on the bed, I couldn't help but wonder if the joke was on me - if there was no Light Therapy, if Elizabeth really was just trailing a slim metal pen all over my face whilst playing a 'beep beep beep' in my ear, and then giggling all the way to the bank.

Still, I'm not even sure it matters. I had a nice little snooze while I was being tickled by the pen, so the session wasn't entirely wasted.

And besides, the relief after the massage stopped was enormous. It was worth paying money just for that.