I'm the kind of person who likes to make plans. I like to know what to expect. I like to research where I'm going for dinner if I'm in a new city so that, when I arrive, I know exactly what I'm having. If I go on a vacation, I want an itinerary; breakfast at 10 a.m., followed by two hours on the beach, a trip to the zoo, and stop for a selfie with the biggest ball of string by 3:30 p.m. If I ever get a Brazilian wax treatment, I will know exactly what to expect because I have watched hours of videos to make sure I'm comfortable with anything my crotch coiffeur might do to me.
Strangely enough, when I decided I was going to get fake eyelashes, I did NOT do any research. I had no idea how much it would cost, how long it would take, or even what was involved. I have since been schooled.
When I told my daughter I was going to get fake lashes, she... hesitated. I'd say she knows me better than anyone and, in hindsight, I should have read more into the pause. I merely assumed her concern was regarding possible eye infections, which doesn't worry me. I (touch wood) am not prone to styes or pink eye or whatever.
I've seen lots of examples of this recent beauty trend and I really wanted my own "lash extensions". I had naturally long eyelashes when I was younger but, now that I'm heading into MY LATE 40S (for chrissakes), my lashes are more sparse and certainly not long. My vanity is rearing it's ugly head more and more these days - fucking wrinkle repair serums, glycolic peels, charcoal toothpaste... anything to hold onto my youth for just a liiiiiittle bit longer.
Anyway, my coworker has a side hustle doing nails and lashes in Smith's Falls, so I decided to make an appointment with her. I arrived at the house on a Wednesday morning, eager for my transformation and we got right to it. I crawled up onto the massage table, face up, and she sat facing my head with all the tools she needed at hand.
The first thing we needed to do was get my bottom lashes out of the way. This means, we had to tape my bottom lashes to my face. Now, when she said this would be required, I flinched a little. I thought, "Ok. This sounds like some kind of torture technique from the middle ages where your eyelids are pinned open and you can't blink." But, I was not too concerned. It surely wouldn't take long.
The process was all moving along very quickly after she told me to close my eyes. It felt like she was using some kind of fine needle to separate my eyelashes to install the fake ones evenly. Part of me imagined some kind of super fine strip of lashes being weaved among my existing ones and part of me imagined the movie Coraline, the part where they tell her they are going to sew buttons over her eyeballs.
"About how long does this usually take?" I ask, naively.
"Usually two hours. Maybe an hour and a half." She replied.
GULP.
How am I supposed to lay here for two hours with my eyelids taped down and lashes glued shut?!! The answer was, quite simply, in a fairly comfortable position all while bitching nonstop about work things. For example, as a server, you ask your guests if they would like something to drink while they're deciding what to eat. Often, the reply I get is, "Nothing for me. I'll have water." To which, I would like to reply, "Should I get that for you via intravenous? Because, last I checked, water is something to drink." Also, if you are only two people, do not sit at a table of six. You're not moving in. You don't need the extra space. For the love of Pete, stop being self-centered twats.
While she worked away on my eyes, we also discussed the process of my lash installation, which involves glueing an extra synthetic lash to each of my individual lashes one by one. Hence, the two hour time frame. She would work on my right side for a bit and then my left and back to the right... and before I knew it, we were done.
In the end, there was still some clean up required. Stray lashes stuck in the wrong place or attached to your bottom lid, etc. At this point, my eyes were wide open and trying not to see the very sharp instruments poised so close to my pupils. I just prayed she wouldn't sneeze and turn my peepers into kabobs.
All's well that ends well. And, I'm very happy with the results. I could barely wait to get to my car so I could start taking selfies of my Bambi eyes! Would I ever do it again? I don't fucking think so. I'll keep with traditional, stick-on lashes from the drug store or just grow old gracelessly.
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