Why did I even drive to Walnut Creek yesterday? I was in such a hurry to purchase something I didn't need; I didn't even take the time to duct tape my neck. Little did I know that of all days, I would later be entering a "Creep of the Day" contest. I left the house feeling semi-attractive, for an oldster, but returned feeling like a washed-up old sea hag.
After an unsuccessful shopping day, I decided to head home and briskly walked towards the parking lot. Just before I left the vicinity of the stores, I passed a skin care boutique, where a handsome young Frenchman was standing outside the door. I tried to escape, but since I'm the soft and squishy type, I couldn't get away in time. He handed me a sample, told me how pretty I was, led me inside and almost pushed me into a chair at the "beauty bar". Next time I go to a real bar. Lord knows I needed a stiff one after practically being told I looked like Dracula's bride.
The first thing I noticed was how bright the place was. I felt like I was in a lineup. It was painted the whitest white I've ever seen and the sun was reflecting in a very unflattering way. Even drop-dead-gorgeous beauty queens would look rotten in that light. It seems my beauty consultant had lassoed me into this skin care cult, just to tell me how hideous my face was and to try to drain my bank account. The insults were just beginning. I couldn't believe that I'd fallen victim to another revolting development like this.
He brought out a set of products that would add only one more hour to my usual three-hour ugly routine. He told me that "Today Only", each jar would be "only" $200. There were six different treatments and I needed all six. He said I would have a vulture?!? (Read on). And, If I had a vulture, I would be able to get a "non-surgical face lift" for the low price of $6,000, at the spa in the back. He said I would be alone with him, then added, "Don't worry, I'm gay." Right after that, he said, "Just a joke." It did seem tempting, but $6000.00 for a fake face lift and a couple of hours with a gay jokester isn't exactly my idea of a good time or a bargain. Was he crazy? The real question is, am I? I think we all know the answer to that one.
I was growing weary hearing about what a beast I was, but every time I tried to leave, he put more goop on me. He was kneading my neck, holding it up with his fingers, saying, "Look at how pretty you will be." He had a mirror that magnified my skin to the 500th power. He kept saying, "Peggy, you are so pretty, but at your age, in 5 years, your neck will be dropping like a chicken." I started imitating my version of what chickens sound like, hoping maybe I'd get kicked out of the joint, but no such luck. At one point, he made me hold the mirror and he counted the number of wrinkles I had by my eyes and my mouth. "By your mouth, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven! By your eyes, one, two, three, four, five, infinity! If you use our products, you will get rid of all your rosacea, wrinkles, bags and these many brown spots." Who asked? I felt as if he had X-ray vision.
He must have said, "Peggy, you're so pretty" twenty times, but after each time he added ten insults. He asked me how I took off my my makeup and I said, "With a cosmetic wipe." ( I almost said, "With an electric sander and a garden hose, punk!). He said (in his thick accent), "Peggy, don't get lazy, Peggy, don't wear makeup because it settles in your pores and makes you look older." According to Pierre, everything I'd ever done was w-r-o-n-g and u-g-l-y!
"Did you take a shower today?, he asked. "What's it to you!", I shouted. He then proceeded to put gel all over my forearm because he said it was just like the skin on my face. Suddenly, he's sloughing off my dead skin from centuries ago and trying to make me feel like an even bigger loser. It was all over his trousers. "This is your dead skin, Peggy. You are beautiful, but you are not sloughing your skin properly." We were now bonded by my dead cells.
Throughout this brutally honest session, he used the word vulture ten times! I could barely understand so much of what he said, but I do know what "vulture" sounds like and I know what they look like, because they visit our backyard frequently. The last time he said it, I said, "Listen to me, Frenchy! I know I have some skin issues, but I refused to be compared to a vulture!" It was then that he laughed and clarifed by saying, not vulture, voucher! I guess paying only $2,000 for the day would get me a voucher for that deluxe offer in the back room with him. Seems like a gyp...
I finally told him I'd had enough insults, started flapping my wings and flew home, like the vulturous buzzard I am. Now if I could just find my barnacle scraper...