Can I Offer You a Bird Poop Facial?
Hello folks, let’s chat…Paulette and I realize we’re aging, but this morning we were talking about certain things we will absolutely never do to combat the process. We have learned that some people are paying other people good money to put live snails on their faces. They call ‘em snail facials. The snails are supposed to journey around the person’s face depositing, and I’m quoting here, “Skin-softening mucus.” And because some folks will not quit asking “what will they think of next?” other comedian type people are marketing something called bird-poop facials. I don’t think that needs further explanation. The name says it all.
In the interest of full disclosure, I’ve had two bird-poop facials in my life, once when I was mowing the yard and once when I was coming out of the mall. Both were unplanned and each time I felt like the universe was laughing at me. I told Paulette that and she went all quiet on me for at least two seconds. Apparently, I had reminded her of that unpleasant encounter she had at the mall last Christmas.
Paulette was walking back to her car in that crowded parking lot when this younger man drove up beside her, lowered his window, and politely asked if she would like a ride to her car. Mind you, Paulette is happily married, and besides, she’s way too smart to get in a stranger’s car, but she admitted to being flattered by the younger man’s attention.
“Thank you,” she said. “But, I’ll walk.”
“Pretty please,” the fellow pleaded with an engaging smile.
Cars had begun lining up behind them. Horns were honking as busy shoppers got increasingly impatient.”
“Look,” Paulette said. “I’m flattered, really I am, but I’m happily married and I’d rather walk.”
The young fellow looked confused. Then, in her words, he had the audacity to laugh out loud. “Ma’am,” he said. “I just wanted your parking space.”
Paulette thinks I should tell you that this is exactly the sort of thing that could tempt a less confident older woman to get a bird poop facial. Y’all be careful out there.
Hugs, Shellie