“So, what are we doing exactly?” I asked Lyn.

“I’m really not sure myself,” she replied, as we travelled the long road to our mysterious destination.

It started like this: I heard whisperings that there was a random lady who wanted to give away free facials. She was trying to do a certain number each month, and through some twisted grapevine, she had offered to do facials for Lyn and I and a friend. What a goodhearted lady, it seemed, to want to treat us to an evening of pampering for nothing in return. My suspicions should have been aroused from the beginning, but the Mennonite in my blood is too fond of free things to turn such an offer down, and besides, what did I have to lose?

So there we were, Lyn and I, on our way to Mooresville for our free facials. The friend who had gotten us set up with this had to back out last minute, so it was just the two of us, going much farther from home than we wished, toward a fate we were uncertain of.

“Free facials!” we said. “It’ll be fun!” we said, trying to dismiss the growing feeling that coming was a mistake.

Google maps kept leading us farther from home, and as we neared our destination, the area looked less and less like the kind of place where a spa would be located, and more and more residential. We pulled in front of a house as Google told us we had arrived, wondering what on earth we decided to do this for. Aha! There was another vehicle here belonging to someone we knew. At least we weren’t doing this quite alone.

We entered the house with much trepidation. And there, on the table, were several little trays with tiny dabs of moisturizers, cleansers, and scrubs on them. The realization dawned on us…

It was a Mary Kay party.

We had no choice but to seat ourselves at the table and smile obligingly. We dabbed our faces with the expensive drops of products we were supposed to want to buy as we listened to the sales spiel, and were told why we should also want to be Mary Kay consultants (who actually wants a pink cadillac anyhow?).

Free facials my foot.

We squirmed uncomfortably as we listened to the lady tout her costly products, and wondered why on earth we had decided to come. Finally it was over and we made it out the door mostly unscathed, with somewhat cleaner faces I suppose, and with only our dignity the worse for the wear.

Moral of the story: Never trust a relative stranger who texts you and offers you free facials. But you already knew that, didn’t you?