I never realized the work that goes into being a girl. And it IS work, by the way.
Props to all the queens that have a formal “process” for, and spend money on “products” lining their bathroom shelves.
I had a date on Sunday; A tennis date. I’ve written about date disasters before. And my disasters aren’t just when I wear wrong outfits or the conversation is stilted (although I once talked about sheep for three hours). I have also been known to hint a bit too boldly. Cuss repeatedly. Eat off of the wrong plate. Forget his name. Sneeze in his mouth when he tries to kiss me. One time I tripped on a doormat and tackled him to the floor. Another time I suggested we go to his favorite place. We ended up at Sprouts Market. He bought hummus.
Yes, my road to finding love has been looooong and rocky. But on Sunday I had a brilliant idea to bring my date fails to an end.
Luscious, lavish, ostentatious, eyelashes.
I bought a kit. Watched a video. And glued a strip of falsies to my own delicate, wispy lashes. My new full lash line was a modern-day miracle.
I don’t know anything about false eyelashes, or lash extensions, but these were pretty easy to figure out. They’re little sections, or clusters, that you group under your lash and fuse with an adhesive. Aside from the fact that I miscounted and glued four clusters to one eye and only three clusters to the other, they looked pretty amazing.
I looked pretty amazing.
I strutted over to the tennis courts like I was the hottest babe alive!
I’m on the tennis court with Robert and I rub my eye. For no reason except there was a tickle of wind. I rub my eye and pull all the pretty little lashes on my right eye.
I cup my eye, drop to my knees, cuss. Always the cuss. He rushes over. I’m sure he’s thinking my eyeball fell out. I tell him I have something in my eye and I run to the restroom.
I look in the mirror which is smudged with something yellow and I can’t see shit.
- What are the odds he’ll notice I only have eyelashes on one eye?
- If I pull out the lashes on the other eye, what are the odds he’ll remember I ever had eyelashes?
- Shit, my shirt is touching the sink.
- Maybe if I stay in here long enough, he’ll get bored and leave.
- Maybe he won’t notice.
- What the fuck did I ever do to make the dating Gods hate me like this?!
- Did he leave yet?
- I’m going to have to pull out all my lashes.
- Good thing my eyebrows are real.
(He called and wants to play tennis again on Thursday. Fucking dating Gods. Who’s laughing now??)