Chemical Imbalance
Sunday morning I woke up in a tiny twin bed in a condominium on Clearwater Beach. My first thought? Am I still five and this whole thing has been a dream? Phew! Then I realized no, if I was still five I would be waking up sweaty with heart palpitations, (Hey! Maybe I am five!) in anticipation of another day of kindergarten and the possibility of being force fed vile tomato juice which usually comes the day after pineapple juice which is what we had yesterday.
Looking out at the surrounding water, things begin to take focus. I do recall drinking a Sake bomb and eating sushi which explains the piece of smeared edamame on my iphone screen. The Sake bomb makes it crystal clear....GIRL'S NIGHT! Yes! Yes! I remember now! My best friend D and I and another friend who shall be referred to as "Ringleader" spent a glorious night in D's sister's beachfront condo. That explains why my head is fuzzy and my mouth is like cotton after downing an entire Volcano Roll and a gallon of soy sauce, however, it does not explain why my face feels as though it is on fire. Something has definitely gone awry.
I head to the bathroom to take stock of things and nearly faint when I look into the mirror. I am a monster, reptilian in nature with my hair standing straight up due to some sort of elastic band that is wrapped under my chin and holding my hair back from my face. My face has the characteristics of a crocodile, each pore hideously magnified with papery skin hanging off in sheets. WTF? Am I dead?
I emerge from the bathroom to find Ringleader sipping a Starbucks. "Oh great, did you wash your face?" she asks nonchalantly? "Wash it?? I replied. "Nah. I just scraped off the scales and applied some LimeAway." Suddenly it came to me...Ringleader, a medical esthetician had given us chemical peels. I remembered now, how it went down:
I was sitting at the table around 11 pm drinking a mixture of left over Chardonnay and warm Pinot (surprisingly quite palatable,) and taking bites from a salami log. D was smoking a cigar. Ringleader said "Okay, let's do chemical peels."
D and I said "YAY!"
D went first. She sat sipping her drink while Ringleader wiped her face with cotton squares drenched in acid.
"Cool!" we said. Now this is the point where maybe I should have said, "D and Ringleader, perhaps we should do this at a facility equipped to handle burns and lacerations" but I didn't. Really it was not my fault, there was no adult supervision, unlike the time my ex grabbed a black Sharpie from my sons' hand just centimeters before he wrote 'I LOVE BALLS" on his sleeping cousin's forehead.
Still thrilled and intrigued with the process, I sat down in the chair and Ringleader put the chin strap/hair band around my head, pulling my hair straight back and revealing quite a bit of forehead. Then she applied the acid to my face.
"Hey," I said, "This kind of burns."
D was calmly sitting there looking at a magazine. "D" I asked kind of nonchalantly..."Um does your face burn and itch?"
"Yah" she said and continued reading.
"Yeah, mine too," I said trying to remain calm. Then I saw yogurt covered raisins on the counter and lost all sense of time and place.
So okay, maybe it wasn't all Ringleader's fault but seriously, short of my mother accompanying me on Girl's Night, what am I to do? How do I know that next time I won't agree to a mohawk hair cut or permanent eyebrows that make me look like the Joker? It seems the older I get the more adventurous I become to try new beauty remedies. I am sure a lot of women out there feel my pain. We are a species who pours hot wax on our vaginas and then rips the hair off of it. What more can we ask of ourselves?
I have to admit, however, my skin has almost all flaked off now and I feel rejuvenated. Two days ago I sent this text to Ringleader...
"The skin around my mouth is dark brown, leather and itchy. Is that normal?"
Ringleader: "Who is this?"
"It's me."
"Yes, it's normal. Don't worry. Eyes may get leathery too."
Ahh... a girl can dream.....
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