Eyelashes…the long, luxurious ones for which women all over the world yearn, are not all they’re cracked up to be. The truth of the matter is that they can be a real pain in the patootie.
Unlike my husband and daughter who won the genetic eyelash lottery, I was handed inferior ones…pale, short, sparse. Mascara is one of my closest friends.
Now, imagine my delight when my eye doctor explained that one of the side effects of my prescription eye drops would be increased eyelash growth. Sweet!
My brother-in-law, who incidentally is my age and who also has to employ these drops, warned me of “crazy eyelashes”. I ignored him…what do guys know about the joys of dreamy lashes?
I should have listened.
Are they thicker? Yessiree!
Longer? Whoa, Nellie!
I know what you’re thinking.
You want to smack me.
Well, the first issue is that they truly are crazy. They come in at all angles, occasionally cris-crossing; so they still need to be whipped into submission with mascara.
The next issue is the fact that I can actually see my lashes without looking into the mirror. At all times, their faint featheriness (apparently, that's not a real word) frames my line of vision.
The final, and most irritating, side effect is that they are little Venus Flytraps…something is always getting caught in them…lint, hair, leaves, small birds. I am constantly picking schtuff out of them!
I find it interesting that neither my husband nor my daughter have ever complained about this issue. Could it be that because they’ve always had to deal with the trinkets their eyelashes trap for them, it has become commonplace, and they have no idea that the eyelash-challenged people of the world have no knowledge of this type of suffering?
I do have to admit, though…
I still kinda love the lashes!