So, here is what you, my dear readers (all seven of you) have been anxiously awaiting–the highly anticipated sequel to A Deal With the Devil.
(I like to think positively.)
Before I start, I must say that uncovering something so revealing, so personal, yet so ridiculous may be crazy or weird (judge if you will judgy judgers), but keeping funny stories all to myself just isn’t right.
It’s plain selfish.
Sharing is better.
So, I left off with me in the bathroom staring at my countertop lined with products and my true grit willingness to conquer the application of fake eyelashes which interestingly enough also happen to come in delicate, wispy singles as well which is just what I chose.
Piece of cake. Ha!
Not only were the simple singles appealing, but also the fact that the package they were in said they lasted for weeks. I didn’t believe it for a minute, but I was definitely in.
Anyway, I unpacked the little lash tray with all of these different lengths of single wisps of lashes, the directions, and the glue that came with it. I put my glasses on to read the only three steps the makers for some God forsaken reason think that’s all there are and quickly realized this wasn’t going to be easy–especially minus the glasses. Thank goodness for magnifying mirrors.
Maneuvering these microscopic hairs with tweezers and applying the glue was no easy task. Several fell to their demise in my sink, others got eternally stuck to the tweezers, while finally the lucky remaining lashes made it to my eyelids. (Found out later that’s not where they go, but that’s neither here nor there.)
After a while, I started to get the hang of the application process, and my eyelashes began to take on a look that said, “You’re gettin’ good at this…look…at…you.”
Soooooooo…of course I applied more. If one row looks good, two rows will look fabulous! I layered and buried and stacked those lashes till only one or two lonely sprigs lingered in the tray.
My transformation was complete. It was two grueling hours of intense labor, but I was finally pleased with the heap of tiny hairs that now bordered my eyeballs.
My eyelids felt as if a small child had sat on them, but not feeling that this was a dealbreaker, I ended my process with one of my favorite sayings, “And it was good.”
Feeling ever so lovely, I took advantage of enjoying my beauty every time I could.
I looked in the mirror every time I passed it in the hallway. I calmly snuck off to the bathroom many times to make sure they were still awesome. I subtly stole glances of myself sideways in the microwave, and I finally decided it was time to take them out for a spin.
I wore them when I ran my errands feeling just a little self-conscious but owned it. I wore them all day.
LIKE A BOSS.
Until…I had to go meet my friend to pick up her daughter to spend the night with my daughters. I decided I was NOT going to have the eyelashes on then. For strangers it was ok, but for people I actually encounter regularly it wasn’t.
This was a test drive, and I was not quite ready to let the world know I had chosen this path.
So, having worn them as long as I could until meeting my friend, I returned to my bathroom to undo all I had done and began the process of dismantling the tiny hairs one by one.
I had one hour until pickup…no worries.
The pack came with a liquid that would “release” the glue, so I began drizzling that over my forest of lashes, let it soak in for the recommended 15 seconds or so, and then began to tug with my tweezers.
One problem; there was no releasing of the eyelash wisps.
Ok, let me try that again. I let it soak a little longer.
Still, no releasing whatsoever, and no promise of any type of release in my near future.
I started to realize that the whole “stays on for weeks” was no whisper in the wind.
It was real.
They sold me “releasing liquid” AKA Crazy Glue. You know the one–where in the commercial the guy glues his hard hat to a steel beam and hangs from it all because of the Crazy Glue and it’s amazing holding power?
Yeah, that’s on my eyelashes.
Forty minutes in and the countdown to meeting my friend (and dropping them off at a church event where I will need to briefly talk to other adults) I begin to feel a rush of panic set in.
You know how you feel when you need something off or you will lose your mind?
Maybe it’s an itchy sweater, or a jacket that’s got the arms of your shirt underneath bunched up around your elbows, or even a too tight dress all zipped up that won’t pull over your head and won’t come back down either–pure panic I say!
So, good Lord, of course I begin to take what I feel is the ONLY course of action and rip them out.
That’s right. Once I did one and realized I was left with a tidy little bald spot, I figured I had no other choice.
Flashes of white light hit me. I envisioned my eye baldness after this situation. I wondered if Crazy Glue worked if there were no eyelashes at all…because there were going to be eyelashes in my future, and this was definitely going to be what I was going to use if it came down to it.
It just got worse and worse, and it was time to meet this mother.
AND I WAS ONLY FINISHED WITH ONE EYE!
Good lord what happened?
Not just an hour ago, I was feeling like J LO from her L’Oreal mascara commercial, and now I look like Smeagol from Lord of the Rings.
So I make my way toward the other eye.
Let ‘er rip.
I ran out of time though, and I decided that cutting the remaining lashes down to meet whatever I had left was a reasonable solution.
Things get weird when ya panic.
But, I was nervous so I cut a big gash out and now I had this real low part right in the middle of my eyelashes…lower that my own.
I had cut the few poor eyelashes I did have shorter than the rest of my eyelashes and now they looked like they were smiling at me.
I actually heard my eyelashes beg me to stop.
I held back tears. I sucked it up. I told my daughters to look away, and I texted my friend.
Now, she really is more of an acquaintance which makes this conversation that much harder, but I basically told her of my lapse in judgement and that it wasn’t going to be pretty.
You know when someone looks at you and laughs with that uncomfortable, tight laughter while telling you that you don’t look that bad… it’s that bad.
She’s so nice.
I made a very brief, far away showing at the church event. I had actually looked in the mirror before I left to see how many inches/feet a person would actually have to be in proximity to me to make out what I had done.
I didn’t move an inch closer.
After the drop off, I made a beeline to the nearest drugstore and purchased–you guessed it–another set of eyelashes.
The prospect of putting glue on what was now red hot, bleeding eyelids was not something I was looking forward to.
Yes, they were bleeding…
…complete freak show…
When I got home, I tearily removed the remainder of lashes I had and decided to give my bleeding eyeballs a break. I went to bed…and rested.
Amazingly, eyelashes are quite resilient.
They weren’t hideous for long. Miracle! I did use some natural looking eyelashes for a bit. They actually came with a sticky strip so no glue was necessary. (Where were they that night?)
And I got some lessons (from those on YouTube that had gone before me), and found out how to do the whole eyelash thing right. At this point though…who cares?!
Although I am not completely against the fakes, I’m still not totally on board because they are a lot of work and feel weird, but I thought this journey might be an enjoyable one for you to take vicariously through me.
You know the one that you’re sooooooo glad you’re not actually on?
Maybe I should go on YouTube and give tutorials…of what not to do…ever.