It’s rare I treat myself to any kind of professional beauty treatments. Partly because I do them at home to spare the expense but also because I have trust issues where my face is concerned. If a beautician buggers up your face they might feel regret but at the end of the day it won’t be them walking around with the end result so if they make a hash of it, they’ll apologise, knock off some money and send you on your way.
Why do I have the memory of a potato? Why didn’t I remember this when I made a booking at the local beauty salon for LVL lashes (a lash perm) and high definition brows?
My own eyelashes, although very long, are poker straight. A trait dealt to me courtesy of my Dad, so thanks for that dad. Not a slight curve or remote curl in sight. This means that on a daily basis I have no other option but to use an eyelash curler to achieve a full looking eye by curling the shit out of them. It is time consuming, tedious and the results can be varied depending on how rushed I am so when these new fandangled lash perms and lash lifts made an appearance on the beauty scene a few years ago I was first in line. I admit some treatments have been better than others but I’ve usually left the salon with lovely dark curled lashes. Just for the record I’ve always had a good set of eyebrows, much like Animal out of The Muppet’s, and have never really touched them except to shape them a bit. The problem is, as our old friend ‘Age’ has caught up with me I’ve started to notice parts of my once thick brows require some pencilling, which is just my least favourite thing to do so I was hoping a spot of HD browing might help.
It’s been a while since I last dabbled in the unpredictable world of beauty therapists so I did some research and was pleased as punch to discover that there was a highly recommended place just around the corner from my 10 year old’s school. Perfect.
Appointment booked for 9.30 on Thursday. Brilliant. Couldn’t wait. Very excited.
As I entered the salon there were 6 ladies bustling around already busy with clients. A good sign, because a busy salon means lots of repeat custom from satisfied clients.
‘’Hello, are you Eliza?’’ Said a voice to my left.
As I turned to look I was met with the sight of a 12 year old child grinning like a Cheshire cat. She continued ‘’ You’re my 9.30’’
Of course I Fucking was. For absolute Fucks Sake.
There was only another 6 fully mature women that worked there, why in Gods name did I think for a second that this would run smoothly and I would get an actual fully trained grown up with a few years experience under her belt to make my eyelash dreams come true, when there was a chance I could have an infant do it who had the life experience of a mayfly let alone any work experience. Just for reference, mayflies live for one day only. They are born and then 24 hours later they are dead.
I could have said something before she started but I didn’t want to judge. For all I knew she could be either a child genius that had passed all her beauty exams with flying colours at the tender age of 6 and was now super successful and in demand with a 2 year waiting list which I had been lucky enough to cut to the front of via a last minute cancellation. Or she might be 55 with 30 years experience but uses Olay twice a day? Of course she could also have been the trainee, but I wasn’t jumping to conclusions, I was going to give her a fair go.
Laying on the bed in the treatment room with my eyes closed and the tiny little perm rollers in my lashes, I began to relax and drift off until the child said ‘’ It’s strange not being able to see isn’t it. But if I had to choose to be either blind or deaf I’d choose blindness because I can’t live without music. I love it’’
What the Fuck? Had I heard her right?
I grunted something then pretended to be asleep. I’m all for a bit of small talk but something light hearted and general, not which sense or limb or relative you could live without.
‘’All done, and they look brilliant!’’ Said the child as she was attempting to prize open my left eyelid by scrubbing at the glue and the tint that was blathered around my full socket. ‘’ Have a look before I start your eyebrows.’’
Looking in the mirror all I could see was a severely pissed off woman with panda eyes.The lashes on the right eye were lifted slightly but not to the degree they should have been and the lashes on the left were lifted even more pathetically and only in certain places. They looked thinner too? Maybe down to the rogue glue she had been trying to remove before she freed me from the little perming rods? The whole thing was very underwhelming and disappointing not to mention plain annoying that I’d wasted an hour of my life at this shit show.
The child looked a little confused when I explained that they weren’t really what I was expecting and that I wouldn’t be letting her loose on my eyebrows. I couldn’t risk her using a blowtorch or similar to tame them.
I HATE complaining. It’s not in my nature and it creates negativity for me which I can’t bear so as a rule I try to let things go and move on. Except I’d be buggered if I was letting go of fifty quid for the privilege of having someone ruin my eyelashes, so on this occasion I did complain and I did leave with my money still firmly in my pocket. The owner was very pleasant about the whole thing and insisted that I not only keep my money but I also book in the week after so the LVL treatment could be repeated and rectified.
Did I let her book the appointment- Yes
Will I be attending it- Absolutely not.
Would I rather lose a sense, a limb or a relative rather than return to this mediocre torture chamber for any further attempted procedures- Probably.