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Thursday, 22 April 2010

La Britney -- TOXIC - Sans gene!

Mixing it, mes braves... go here:

I am feeling a little toxic myself at the mo'.

Whatever possessed me, but I found myself at a cosmetic clinic open day on Tuesday evening...

I was feeling a little self-conscious about my deteriorating looks.

How shallow is that?!

And I would not deign to call myself vain, but I had got rather fed up with some spots of probably fat occurring near my eyes, and I thought I might go and see if they could be levered out by waving a magic wand over my skin, resulting in me leaving the clinic looking like, ooh I don't know, Kate Twinset!

And I sat in the full clinic, with what seemed like the whole of Tyneside's glitterati looking for a tweak or a nip or a tuck or even just a freebie glass of vino, well it is Newcastle... And I found myself being herded, like the sheeple that we are, into having a skin assessment.

For the uninitiated, or just for the sensible among you, for I know there are many, I had to put my head under a plastic tent attached to a weird light-box, looking rather like the type of Victorian photographer who called out, "Watch the birdie!", while setting off a small explosion by way of a flash.

And for this, I opined, I had to take off all of my camouflage make up in front of Joe Public with an oily rag in the waiting room?

I was sitting next to a lovely lady who happened to be interested in hair removal as well as skin treatments, and she voiced her fears at what her skin might look like under the harsh UV light of the box after years of Spanish suntans and Spanish City sunbeds... "I'll look like a leather handbag with eyes!", she wailed, laughing!

And they say that laughter is the best medicine!

So I succumbed to the test and the ten year old beautician peered through a magnifying glass at my black look on the other side of the box... "Your skin looks rather dehydrated..." she sighed. 'Well of course it'll be dry, I thought to myself, you've just made me take off all my make-up and moisturiser in a doctor's waiting room!'

"And you have thread veins here, here and here", she pointed at my nose, cheek and wrinkled by frowns and over-thinking forehead. "I'll refer you to Helen for a thread vein removal assessment." 'Oh, you will, will you?' my mind puttered...

"And have you had trauma here on your cheeks, and under your eyes is very dark. Have you had black eyes, or bumped your eyes?" 'No', I whined.

"Do you use sunbeds?", she admonished... 'Only ever once,' I twittered...

"What SPF do you use?"

By this point, I was ready to be referred for psychiatric treatment and self-harm prevention, I felt soooo low.

I took my seat back with the sheeple, with twenty year old girls who looked beautiful - 'What ever were they here for?' and a gay couple one of whom had lost ten stone in weight and was looking for the remaining fat to be lipozapped out of his ass... He looked lovely. His partner, quaffing white wine, was having hair removal sessions, "I blame my hairy dad", he laughed. He'd come along for the ride, for some company and moral support, I think.

A lovely Irish lady I was stationed next to at one point was after having what she called her 'jowls' removed... Her skin was like porcelain and she looked twenty years younger than her birthdate that she proffered to the waiting twelve year old receptionist... Even when she'd removed her make-up with one of the oily rags being passed around, she looked like a Celtic belle dame sans merci.

A startled looking thirty year old office manager, (Botoxed eyebrows slanting sharply upwards like impertinent pencils!), bustled among us, owl-like. Clutching at the waiting stragglers, trying not to lose anyone to the street, the tiny place was packed to the gunwales with folk looking to primp and preen and lose hundreds of (English) pounds in the process. She was obviously soliciting not to lose any of her potential customers. She bustled busily out.

I felt hemmed in. Trapped. Indecisive.

"What else are we going to spend our money on?" the young 'wine waiter' chuckled at me.

...'Books, films, theatre tickets, music, shoes, handbags, paintings, meals, wine, chocolate, darts, beer, leeks'..., I pondered on.

I walked right out of the clinic. A free woman, if a little dimpled if you look closely at the bags under my eyes.

I'm just going to resort to wearing dark sunglasses all the time, even indoors.

Well, it's never done Karl Lagerfeld any harm!


slommler said...

That does not sound like my idea of a good time. It should have been private and relaxing. Sorry you had to suffer through all of that!
Preparation H works wonders under the eyes for bagginess. Try it out!

ArtistUnplugged said...

Honey, THIS story is definitely depressing! I figure you were going there for a pick me up....hope you stayed away from bridges and sharp objects afterwards ;) We are what we are, if I can't cover it, faux it up with some makeup or Spanx then it's just too bad. Funny though....love you across the pond, my dear, walk with your black eyes and chin up high!!!!

saz said...

a low moment perhpas, perhpas perhpas, but sooo funnny Fhi!!

'....Zapped out of his ass!' had me on the floor.....the funniest thing lve read in eons...

and '...the ten year old beautician' l wish l had been with you...we would have been laughing all the way to the gin house!!!!

dark glasses and lippy...now you see why they are my staple....ROFL

luv you..
saz x

Young at Heart said...

speaking as a woman who is now wearing her bags for life, I find Dove tinted moisturiser, liberally applied everywhere, can cover up a multitude of sins....that and a burka!!

Moannie said...

Oh bless! What a thing to put yourself through...why o why do we women constantly critisize ourselves? I remember trying to buy sme makeup in an up market store when I was in my early sixties. The stumpy sales assistant...totally confident with her mask like face cake, but caked with everything from her counter, peered at my skin and said to me 'Well Madam, I think you need the full works and at your age it will be just in time.' I said, 'really? and how old do you think I am?' 'Oh,' she said confidently...'with the condition your skin is in I would say at least forty-five.' It took a great deal of self control not to blow her a Raspberry and I turned my back on her and left the building.

Derrick said...

That was so funny, Fhina, even if not for you at the time! You have a magical way with words and I'm sure you look just peachy too.

French Fancy said...

Oh, I was waiting to hear about the treatment for the thread veins - I've got some in my cheeks. I look like a rosy-cheeked peasant without my concealer on.

I hate beauty salons - I think it's much better to get someone to come to one's home and keep it all private. I mean to have to remove all the slap in public is just not on.

You did the right thing, my dear - save the cash for something more fun.

Suldog said...

Hurray for you and your walking out! I was hoping that's what you'd do, and you did!

Jo said...

Oh, thank you, this made me chuckle. :-)

And you know what they say ... a laugh is the best face lift.

PokCalaway0710 said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Bee said...

I'm so glad that you walked away! Self-improvement is a slippery slope, for sure, (says the woman who gets highlights and the occasional facial), but in general I think of it as an industry which makes money by making us feel bad about ourselves. I've just come back from Houston -- land of some scary plastic surgery. Let's all just age gracefully, acquiring more laugh lines along the way . . . say I.

Something I wrote earlier...

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