My Stupid Face

I treated myself to a massage and botanical peel a couple weeks ago for my birthday. I’d never had a botanical peel before, but I figured with the price tag I would get some good advice on what the hell to do with my face. Body? Use lotion, whatever. Face? Uhh… exfoliate? Is toner good or bad? Is it ‘masks’ or ‘masques’? “What’s your skin type?” JUST TELL ME!

Obviously this is a stressful, first-world problem I have. Fortunately, my facial guy was really helpful and sent me to a place on Fillmore Street (it’s a bit fancy, for those of you unfamiliar with San Francisco) for moisturizer and makeup. I don’t typically talk to people on the weekends, so when I waltzed in after a long day of reading (and/or playing Two Dots) on the couch and found myself alone with three sales associates, I felt awkward. But in the interest of never having to do this again because the brands he recommended were going to work, damnit, I pushed through.

Are you supposed to talk while a stranger rubs stuff on your face? Will the movement of underlying muscles disrupt the delicate art of applying paste? I tried to play it cool, alas…



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