Eyelash extensions (a.k.a. that time I did something really, really, really, ridiculously vain)

My natural eyelashes are like my hair. They are utterly plain to the naked eye. But to a professional, they are amazing. For instance, my limp, lackluster, rebellious hair always gets this comment from people who cut it, “Goodness, your hair is so thick!” Then why does it cling to my head like a skinny cat trying to stay out of a bathtub? Because it’s also ‘extremely fine.’ There’s the gotcha! I have a head full of hair, but it’s so fine, it doesn’t really count.

My eyelashes are sort of the same. Today, I went for eyelash extensions and she said, “Goodness, you have lots of lashes! I’ll have plenty to work with.” So why don’t they show up au natural? Because they are blond. And because I have my Grandpa’s super hooded lids. They are covered and camouflaged. Assassin eyelashes.

Back to extensions. I found a deal on Living Social and decided to give it a try. The first thing that scared me was when she came at me with a large piece of tape. This was to go under my lower lashes right up to my lid in order to keep the glue out of my eyeball. Panic mode set in. I have a thing about people coming at my eyes with things. The tape was so close to my eyeball that when I closed my lids, I could feel it keeping the lids from completely connecting. It was almost like when kids turn their eyelids inside out. I tried that once or twice – this is what it felt like. I’m trying to figure out a way to completely close my eyes because I can’t fathom watching her come at my eye with tweezers for 75 minutes. My eyes are rolling around trying to find a comfortable position while she is putting stuff on my forehead.

She tells me she’s using my forehead as a tray. Uhm…is this an insult? Is my forehead that large? She continues that it’s easier to keep all the eyelashes there while she’s working. I wish I had a picture of my hairy forehead. Alas.

She starts to work and the first thing that I feel is a pull. Now I’m in COMPLETE panic mode. What if this hurts? What if this process is painful? Like having all my eyelashes plucked out by tweezers? My whole body is so rigid now I feel like I’m planking. Seriously, at one point, I had to reposition my fingers because they were hurting so bad from having them laced together so forcefully. I finally realize that it will not hurt. And that’s when something worse happens.

I fell asleep.

And woke myself up with a snort.

Oh, God. Was I snoring? For how long? Was my mouth open? This isn’t a single person salon, but one shared with another woman and her client. It’s eerily quiet. Were they talking about me? Laughing at me?

She suddenly says, “Done!” and hands me a mirror. There, in the mirror is me. Except I see a camel.

Because I’m my own worst critic. I see Mr. Snuffleupagus.

I make a before and after picture and send it to my best friend to confirm that I’ve made a grave mistake and she calms me down with a single text. Her super power. Then, I start looking at the picture and I notice something good. My hooded eyelids, which have been a nemesis of mine since forever – the extensions have vanquished them. The new eyelashes are holding them back . They no longer hang over my eyelashes like an optical beer belly.

I’m still hyper-aware of them. I feel like people are looking at my eyelashes almost as if I’m wearing the metallic Halloween ones, but I no longer feel like a Muppet, so that’s good.

And I can recommend the process to anyone needing a good nap.