I have a friend named Adrienne whom I trust implicitly in all things New Age-y. Adrienne was the only one in our group of friends to make good on the oft-mentioned – but never-enacted – threat of quitting office life and traveling the world. While the rest of us toiled behind desks (and still do), Adrienne waited tables, made more than all of us combined (still does), and the pretty much spent all of her 20s riding elephants in India before spending a month in Vietnam before jetting to South America. If I could do it all over again, I’d be Adrienne.
Which is why one day, when she tipped me off to a place in our neighborhood that was offering a deal on colonics, I didn’t question it. I’d heard a lot about this ritual? (procedure? exorcism?) but was nervous to try it for reasons I’m sure are fairly obvious (and if they are not, you are braver than I am.) I asked Adrienne if she had ever done it and she assured me it was worth it. So I purchased the discounted session and booked straight away.
However, Adrienne and I had two wildly different experiences in this salon? (torture chamber? place where innocence goes to die?) And I would be doing all of womankind a grave disservice if I didn’t share what to do if you find yourself in a situation where your aesthetician? (woman who may actually be the psychopath from Saw?) doesn’t very clearly explain exactly what is supposed to be happening or why she hates you so much.*
Anyway, here are some helpful tips should you find yourself in this unfortunate (but kind of hilarious like three weeks later?) situation.
From, um, someone who has been there.
*Despite the fact that a small part of me very well may have died that day, my friendship with Adrienne remains firmly intact.