Or spa treatment.
Yesterday, a bunch of folks came to our office to give free mini-spa treatments and not incidentally, plug the full-length dealies at their salon. This is totally fine, and a kind of ingenious way to drum up business during a recession, except for one lady who totally did my least favorite upselling technique: the spa neg.
She was giving hand massages, something that I was particularly looking forward to, as my chubby little toddler paws are always bound up in knots, thanks to the whole typing all day thing. I sat down and picked out a super-smelly lotion, and then she rubbed my hands for a couple minutes, talking about the spa’s other services all the while.
This was not totally relaxing. Less relaxing still?
“We also have facials,” she said, at one point in her patter.
“Oh, those are nice,” I said. In reality, I’m not a big fan. I feel like my face looks better with the gunk in it than with all that crap taken out. After the extractions, my pores look like moon craters and my skin usually has all the delightful texture of a boiled potato. I’ll keep my dirt, thanks.
“Yes. Lovely facials.”
I must not have seemed receptive, because she just spelled it out for me: “YOU SHOULD COME AND GET A FACIAL.”
Apparently, not everyone likes my pores the way they are.