Lashless
All day, the clock has ticked on. And all day, I have frantically thought, “What can I blog about?” Some days are just like that – nothing in particular that strikes my mind. Other days, I write 4 or 5 entries, and store them up for days like today.
But I’m out of those entries.
And so, as the clock is approaching midnight, and I want to have a blog posted before Monday is over, I reach back in the far recesses of my mind to bring you this gem. It has nothing to do with today. It has nothing to do with anything I have experienced recently. It is simply a story that I should share, if for no other reason than it is horrifying.
When I was a junior in high school, I went to prom with sweet Dylan Schoo. (That is not the horrifying part.) We stayed up all night with our friends, watching movies and talking and laughing, and the next morning, his mom made breakfast for all of us. Then, I went to church, and stayed up all Sunday long. When I finally crashed into bed on Sunday night, I was exhausted. So naturally, I overslept on Monday morning.
The alarm went off; I was late for school. I jumped out of bed, and frantically threw on clothes. I sat at my mirror, quickly applying makeup, making sure that my eyeliner was extra dark to hide my tired eyes. Though it didn’t make sense, as I was already running behind, I decided to take the extra second to use that pesky contraption called the “eyelash curler.”
I am not a frequent user of the eyelash curler. In fact, I think it’s quite silly. It’s the kind of apparatus that men will sit around a campfire debating its actual existence – as in, the men who live with women against the men who do not. A small metal clamp that women place against their eyelid, thus curling their eyelashes? Who knew?
But on that fateful morning, I clamped.
I clamped hard.
I clamped so hard that when my elbow slipped off of the desk, I ripped every last eyelash from my right eyelid.
If you are wincing as you are reading this, YES, IT HURT THAT BAD. The pain was intense, but it did not hold a candle to the alarm I felt when I opened my eyes and saw the eyelash curler still clenching every single one of my eyelashes. In my hand. Detached from my face.
There were tears. There was panic. There was absolute frenzied hysteria. In fact, I got in my truck and drove straight to the church where my mom was in a prayer meeting. I marched in and interrupted these ladies’ communion with the Lord because I’M SORRY BUT THIS IS MORE IMPORTANT.
I wore fake eyelashes for 3 months, until the real ones grew back.
The end.
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tags: Awkward | Beauty | Embarrassing | Montrose | Ridiculous | Stories | Totally Pointless and Irrelevant
This is the last thing I read before I go to bed?
Dear Lord, please take these images away from me.
My mom used to pull her eyelashes out because of nerves. So she hasn’t really had any her whole adult life. We-ird.
How scary that moment must have been…
I’m sorry… but that story is AWESOME!! Just the fact that you lived to tell the tale… wow!
~Diana
I absolutely remember this story. You told me about it on the phone when I lived back in California. To this day I still think of you very frequently upon using the curler — with EXTRA caution. ::shudders::
Exactly why I do NOT use an eyelash curler. Oh, and it always leaves this big crimp in mine.
I’ve heard stories about that happening, but I never thought it was true, oh holy pain!
i use one. there, i said it. but i don’t put my elbow down when i do
i still don’t think those things actually exist.
Oh. My.
So… Did you use fake eyelashes on BOTH eyes after that? Or just the barren lid? Did they look even, or could people tell you’d had some sort of, um, incident?
annie. thank you. you just drew out a much needed belly laugh. though i’m certain you weren’t laughing when that occurred. were there pictures perhaps?…
Ahhhhh! That hurts to even think about!
Also, it reminds me of when my brother shaved off his eyebrows like the day before school pictures. At first, he looked weird but we couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Them my dad figured it out and said, “NATE, WHY did you DO THAT?!?” My brother said ,”Because I felt like it.” When it comes to my brother, I guess that’s as good of a reason as any.
(Cringing.) (Also laughing.)
Yikes Annie! How did the fake eyelashes stay on, with no “roots” to support them?
Good thing it happened AFTER prom… :)
This was my process:
1) Apply a steady, thin, black line of eyeliner.
2) Using tweezers, apply small, individual clumps of lashes one at a time – not one long lash strip – over top the eyeliner.
3) I used some weird adhesive that eventually irritated my eye.
4) Every day, I wished that I wore glasses.
you drove a truck? how cool.
I remember when this happened, and I haven’t used an eyelash curler since! I’m cringing right now just thinking about it.
Remember when we got rear ended in that truck? Awesome.
I remember that too, so horrific. I also loved and remember the good ol’ “odd wheel chair”! OH that truck was the best!
I did in fact laugh out loud. What a hilarious story not to be living through now.
Ouch! That sounds so painful!
I knew there was a reason those contraptions scared me…
Your blog ad is now advertising for fake eyelashes…how fitting!
Yes! I was one of those OLDER ladies meeting at the church. We had a great laugh together, recounted our own pathetic stories, and then, OF COURSE, we prayed for you!
This might be one of my favorite Annie stories. As I recall, I was sitting in the living room when you bolted out the door to find your mom at church–but you didn’t let on that anything was wrong, and I didn’t notice that you were missing any lashes.
good times.
Julianne, I was just WAITING for you to get in on the commenting action!
I know. I can’t believe I didn’t react in your presence – I think that I was way too horrified, and I only had one thought in my head: GET TO MOM, STAT.
I miss you!