Archive for May, 2012
E: What’s that tinkling noise I hear M? Is it your leper bell?
M: Yes, yes it is. My skin is.. leprous?
E: Small children recoiling from you on the street? GOOD. You’re going to want to know what I’m about to tell you then, because that’s exactly how I was before The Gloop.
M: “The Gloop”?
E: It is a possibly miraculous cleanser I have been using.
M: TELL ME ABOUT THE MIRACLE CLEANSER. I want facts, E. FACTS. What texture is it? What does it smell of?
E: Hang on, hold up, you’re going way too fast. First I have to tell you about the BEFORE, in the manner of a lengthy daytime infomercial.
M: Fine, fine. But HURRY.
E: So. About 2 months ago my skin took against me in the most violent way. It tried to escape from my head. It simultaneously broke out and peeled and I had worse spots than I had EVER had. If I put anything on it, it screamed like a bansheee. Well, it visually screamed. You know what I mean.
M: It was the facial skin equivalent of “The Scream”.
E: yes!
M: (note to self: do not google “bubons”)
E: (EWWWWWWW) In this state, I had to go to a beauty presentation. Embarrassing. I considered not going. I considered a facial exorcism. But in the end I just powdered up my entire visage with Laura Mercier Secret Squirrel Mineral Powder (that is not its name) to create an inch thick geisha mask.
M: THIS IS ALL VERY WELL BUT TELL ME ABOUT THE CLEANSER.
E: OK FINE, CRANKYPANTS. The presentation was about a French brand called Iroisie. It is made out of sea and Brittany mountains and seagull guano for all I know, but the lady from Iroisie had beautiful skin.
M: Sounds healthy. And briny.
E: Yes. She said that it was very carefully devised not to fuck with the balance of your skin, and organic and free of nasties. Which was music to my scaly ears.
M: What did she give you?
E: Well. She was actually giving me a BB cream, but I was so totally seduced by her briny spiel, that I bought some gel cleanser.
M: “Gelee douceur demaquillante.” Makeup removing softness jelly. Interesting.
E: Oui. And you know what? That is some good (seagull) shit. Though the gelée has the feeble, wibbly texture of vegan jelly.
M: The website shows pictures of papaya, limes, and the green green sea. This does not sound like “douceur” to me. I like that it says the papaya “unwrinkles” your skin though.
E: All hail the mighty papaya. It is “doux” though. No tightness, no irritation. Soft skin. AND! Most importantly the monkey face receded quite dramatically.
M: How fast? HOW FAST?
E: Maybe 4 days? I mean, it could be a complete coincidence that my monkey face cleared up the, but what are the chances?
M: No. I am a firm believer in the power of Cleansing.
E: I’m not, but this was some good sea-based jelly. Highly recommended. The BB cream was very good too, actually. Faintly medicated. Caused no irritation. Covered some of the hideousness while Miracle Cleanser did its work.
M: I see. And how much did this all set you back?
E: The BB cream is £29.90. Dear, I think, for quite a small tube, but pretty good. The cleanser cost 17 of my continental Euros, but it appears to cost an eye-watering 22 of your British pounds here.
That is expensive for a cleanser, but what price getting rid of monkey face?
M: Not scaring small children on the street: priceless.
E: Indeed. I am going back to get some more today even though I have less money than … Greece. That is all the conclusion you need.
M: Iroisie: worth a few drachmas of anyone’s money.
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M: Tell me, E. Have you smelled Armani’s jasmine perfume?
E: No. Is it lovely?
M: I thought Armani only did perfume with italian words on it. Like GIO and ACQUA DI TOBLERONE.
E: Acqua di Pannetone. Ezzenzi di Ferrero Rocher.
M: Perfume di Papardelle.
E: Hehehehe. Did this not smell of ragu then?
M: No, not ragu, but it smelled so delicious. My friend sprayed it on her hand and I followed her round Selfridges, wanting to EAT her.
E: Wow. How .. frightening.
M: It just smells of flowers. The sweetest, prettiest, most fragile jasmine flowers. Sob.
E: Why are you sobbing?
M: Because it is £135 or something.
E: Awww. Never mind. This will cheer you up:
M: HA. That bottle looks ridiculous. It’s like a hippie on a monolith.
E: You think? To me it’s a gigantic deformed mouth. Probably eating ragu.
M: Let’s read what the Space Lizard himself has to say about it.
“A fragrance which sings the praises of light and life”.
E: Not at all ambitious, then.
M: “Giorgio Armani likes the Jasmine fragrances of his childhood, a long way from the hypnotic mysteries of the Grasse extracts; he likes its solar energy”
E: “Solar energy”. But that’s like ADMITTING that he’s a space lizard!
M: Do you like perfume’s solar energy, E?
E: No, I fear it. It wishes to do me harm.
M: The rose quartz top drinks in the light, apparently.
E: This is some big time reptile alien conspiracy shit right here.
M: Did I ever tell you about the giant crystal at the National Museum of Scotland?
E: I don’t believe so, M, no.
M: I went there to look at the taxidermied animals. There have a great big purple crystal. My friend told me last time he was there, some old hippy was standing in front of it, with his eyes closed and his head thrown back, arms spread open. DRINKING IN THE CRYSTAL POWER. That’s what Armani does. I’m not sure I want this anymore. Especially if it “takes root in the warm terrace of Indonesian Patchouli.”
E: Uh oh. That’s concentrated essence of hippy right there. There are hand-cured thong sandals abandoned on that terrace. And cheesecloth.
M: Pffff. The copy writer has ruined it for me. I am sulking.
E: Leave it to the solar hippy lizards. Anyway, cheer up M. I mean look! It’s a breakthrough! YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT FRAGRANCE. YOU VOWED YOU WOULD NEVER DO THAT.
M: Shut your face. I am not.
E: I think you’ll find you are.
M: Don’t know what you are talking about. I think you’ll find I know you are but what am I.
E: Tsk, M. There is nothing to be afraid of. Soon you will be wittering about “dry down”.
M: I don’t want to know what that is.
E: And “top notes”. And erm. no. My fragrance vocabulary stops there.
M: Humph. Let’s pretend this never happened. If you are my friend, you will pretend this never happened.
E: It never happened (I have just told the whole internet).
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M: So, E, you know how much I love a good voucher deal.
E: Do you? This is news to me. Are you a coupon snipper?
M: No, E. You are totally out of date. This is not like that at ALL. During my year in Singapore, I was practically addicted to them.
E: I see. Tell me more.
M: Thanks to vouchers, I have done the following:
Eaten pork buns
Fed a manatee
Had my hair rebonded
Had a pedicure in an electric massage chair
AND MORE.
E: OH MY GOD (except I do not know what “rebounded” means). This is amazing! Induct me into the church of coupons!
M: More about rebonding another time. When Groupon got in touch to see if we wanted to review their deals, I said “WELL DUH”
E: DUH. You were politer than that, yes?
M: Not really. Anyway, they gave me £30 to spend on something.
E: And what did you pick?
M: I have to say this first of all, E. Groupon UK is nowhere near as hilarious as in Singapore. Where are my sheep placenta pills? Why am I not being offered an afternoon of prawning?
E: What the fuck is prawning? Is it sexual? It sounds sexual.
M: It is not sexual. It is fishing for prawns. No, it is all very sensible, desirable things, like massages, facials, affordable hair cuts and what not.
E: Well, ok, so Groupon UK isn’t quite so exciting, but it might be useful, so tell me, what did you pick.
M: I went for an “exfoliating massage” and Decleor facial. For which I paid an extra £9, so £39 in total for an hour and a half treatment.
E: Reasonable.
M: I had to wait 3 weeks for this, because I am clearly not the only Londoner who is suffering from massage withdrawal syndrome. It has been months, E, MONTHS since I was last wrapped in banana leaves.
E: Hmph. My cold, black capybara heart bleeds.
M: I should think so. So I turned up at this very non descript salon in Marylebone.
E: Meh. What was it like inside?
M: He he he. It was like a portal into Moscow. Everyone in there was Russian.
E: Ace. You stumbled upon a rare OLIGARCH’S NEST.
M: YES. The only other customer there was peroxide blonde with a large, shiny new Louis Vuitton bag. It was quite awesome.
Also: the TV showed “in the night garden”
E: AHAHHAHAHAHHA WHAT THE FUCK. Makka Pakka, come exfoliate me with your sponge.
M: There were so many questions racing through my head at the time. Like: what the fuck and: are they going to steal my kidneys.
E: Valid questions, both.
M: Especially when I was led into the basement, down a tiny, winding staircase
E: To the kidney extraction lab?
M: It certainly looked like it. But I need not have worried, E. It was AWESOME. My therapist was lovely. I ended up asking for no exfoliation, just a massage, which was very good. She would massage some bits, do parts of the facial, massage other bits.
E: REALLY?
M: IT WAS AMAZING.
E: Because most massages are shit, sadly.
M: Pfff. you know nothing. I almost fell asleep. This is quite an achievement for me.
E: Well, maybe I’m just unlucky, but I’ve had a lot of stroking. Stroking, and half-hearted patting. Do not stroke me! PUMMEL.
M: The facial massage was particularly good. There was tapping, lifting, kneading, all sorts of things. I wished it would never end. And afterwards my skin was plump and glowing, as it is supposed to be.
E: Well, that sounds excellent. I mean, it’s not prawn fishing, but hey.
M: Yeah. The morale of the story, E: take a chance with Groupon. It will undoubtedly be funny, and it may also be good.
E: I will start cutting coupons RIGHT NOW.
M: Groupons, E. Groupons.
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