I know, horrible title. My whole life, the only thing I felt I had that made me beautiful were my eyes. That is not to say I went around my whole life thinking I was beautiful but I knew I had pretty eyes. I am not bragging. If I were bragging, I would be talking about my webbed toes. That is another story for another day.
I was somewhat sure that no matter how big my ass got that I had a good face. Men would compliment me on my eyes all the time and when I was not “the loud girl with the fat ass” I was the “girl with pretty eyes”. My daughter was blessed with gorgeous steely blue eyes. It is a nice combination of me and her Dad. She also got his ridiculously long eyelashes. I used to have great, long black eyelashes. I wouldn’t need mascara. I just wore some black or navy blue eyeliner and I could melt butter with one intense stare. Unfortunately, things have changed. I am not sure if it is getting older, or fatter or if my time of hotness is done but I have really thin, flimsy eyelashes. I really should say I did have thin, flimsy eyelashes until…
So one day I am working on a client, she is really tall, thin and pretty. Nice as all get out, too! So as I am doing my intake, I look at her face. I tell her that her eyelashes are gorgeous and she hands me a card that changed everything. She told me that she gets eyelash extensions and they have changed her life. She doesn’t wear mascara, eye shadow or eyeliner anymore. She tells me the wonders of this girl who is a young, independent, hard working skin care professional trying to build her business. I take the card and hold on to it for months. Then one day in March, after hounding from my wonderful client that I deserve it, I make the call.
I set up the appointment. I put my money aside. I go. We begin with just extensions on the outside of the eyes to see if I like them. I fucking loved them. I get both compliments (“You look like a hot Betty Boop”) and critiques (“You look like those ‘Big Eye’ velvet paintings) and ignore all of it. Now, of course, I am addicted. I have given up my occasional mani/pedi for a regular fill on the eyelashes. I go twice a month and throw in a full face wax for good measure (I found a long dark hair growing out of the side of my face. Thanks Mom for the genetic magic). This young lady has become a necessity in my life. I have tried every kind of length and degree of curl she has and I love them all. This time around I ditched the “porn star” length for something closer to my regular size and curl. (My sister told me last week that I had deranged cow eyes. I told her to kiss my ass in Macy’s window)
The only problem with these modern miracles is that I can’t stop looking at them and brushing them. I brush them at stop lights, stop signs, commercials, in between clients, on the phone and before I leave a bathroom. I can’t stop looking at them and my daughter’s new imitation of me involves her saying, “Who am I?” and she will pretend to brush her eyelashes and sing, “I feel pretty”. I never sing that song when I am car grooming. Perhaps I hum a happy tune but it is not that one. At any rate, I have stopped looking in full length mirrors. I just focus on my eyelashes. I feel it has made me a better person. Hey, at least I am not starting fistfights.
