wine and cheap perfume

A few days ago, my mother called me and announced, "Katherine, you have terrible skin. Meet me at Barney's at 2:30. You're having a facial." Never one to pass up any sort of pampering, even if it comes hand-in-hand with a cruel insult, I was all, "Okay." I had to bartend at Dee's party that night, but I figured if nothing else, it would be a relaxing way to unwind before--wait, i'm sorry, i have to interrupt my own post to point out that a man in A WITCH'S HAT is sitting across from me, eating some sort of vegan stew with his fingers. I think I'm gonna puke. But I digress-- before having to deal with all the rabid lesbians who (understandably so) sneer at you when you tell them that their beer will be eleven dollars. Instead, I was greeted by a woman who looked like a hispanic Vanna White-lookalike who made me sign a release form before I had what was called a "Radical Departure Peel." I said, "Okay, this freaks me out a little bit. I'm 26. I'm not in the market for a peel."
She said, "Sweetie, you have bad skin. It won't hurt, and it will leave you glowing."
I said, "And by glowing, do you mean beet red and in agony?"
She laughed and actually threw back her head, shaking her glossy mane of poorly-highlighted hair and revealing pervertedly white teeth. "No, sweetie. Just relax." She told me to lie down, and then emptied a vat of acid on my face, rubbing it in vigorously with a huge grin on her face as I howled and winced, in a terrific amount of pain.
"Doesn't this feel good?!" She asked excitedly, draggin her talons across my forehead and then down my throbbing cheeks.
"Um. It actually burns." I said.
"But in a GOOD way, right?"
"Actually, no," I confessed.
"Well that's okay, sweetie. You're done!"
I looked in the mirror and my face looked like a crumpled McDonald's wrapper: bright, greasy splotches of neon yellow and red, everywhere. Tears in my eyes. Swollen lips. Not pretty. "Okay," I began. "I look awful. I have to look like a human being by tonight, because I have to bartend. Is there anything I can do to remedy this situation?" I asked.
"Not really!" she replied cheerfully. In a day or two the discoloration will go away, but it's at that point that large flakes of skin will begin to fall off your face. No matter what you do, DON'T PICK THEM OFF."
I took a second to digest this grossly unappetizing information. "Hold on. I'm supposed to parade around in public with large flakes of skin dangling off my face?"
"That's right!" she exclaimed euphorically. "But it's no biggie. In a couple weeks you'll be positively GLOWING."
And as she spoke, she was glowing. Their was a halo of red light hovering over her finely-manicured head. Like Satan.