Eyelash Trauma

When Katie called me panicking about her eyelash trauma the other day, I first told her that there was some sort of new prescription cream that causes eyelashes to grow. Since I love a good "guinea pig" to try things out before I waste my own money, I encouraged her to try it out (actually, that's one product I think I'll skip--something brand spankin' new and prescription that you use that close to your eye scares me a little). I did assure her that eyelashes do grow back--just like any other hairs that you pluck.

Then, I shared my own eyelash story with her. When I was four or five years old, I had eyelashes that most women would kill for. And, I got sick of my mother's friends coming up to me and goo-gooing over my lush lashes. So . . . one day, I took a pair of scissors and cut off all of my eyelashes on my right eye. My mother busted me before I got to the left one.

Poor mom went absolutely crazy. She grabbed the nearest magazine, shoved it in my face, and said, "Because of what you have done, you will never look like her!".

Of course, since all I cared about was football and digging up worms, I was thrilled with her prognosis for my future. I told her that I was glad that I would never look like that ugly woman and proceeded to take a black ballpoint pen and draw devil horns and a mustache on the cover girl.

I can't believe that Katie is out of town, and I won't be able to witness her dreaded "bald eye". I'm sure that she will still look like the cover girl that she is, with or without the heated eyelash curler (I think I'll skip out on that one, too--one slip of the wrist and it's barbecued eyeballs). We are going to miss each other--she comes back this weekend just as I'm leaving for two weeks in Steamboat Springs, Colorado. I checked the weather this morning--seventies during the day and forties at night. Bliss.

sf