Skip to main content

I Got Fake Eye Lashes



I recently found myself in the hands of a spa gift card. This does not happen often so I relish these particular occasions. I chose something different this time, over the normal, adored pedicure.

I bravely took on the application of synthetic eye apparel, more commonly known as false eye lashes.

I met with the man at the counter, he asked me a few questions, then he took me back to this little room where peaceful spa music was playing. He told me to lie down on the soft bed, covered me up with a little blanket and then told me to close my eyes. Seriously? Like, an actual slice of time for me to relax and listen to calming music?  This is already worth the whole gift card I’m about to fork over.

About an hour later, he was done.

AND LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING.

I opened my eyes and BAM!  Like, SHAZAM! I was a whole, new woman. BRAND NEW WOMAN. Heeeeelllllooooooo Hollywood! Y’all can’t even understand this. It was like a miracle, probably up there with the Red Sea or the water/wine episode. I don't want to brag or anything but I looked exactly like Tammy Faye in those things. It was like the greatest display of eye affection in the whole world. 

These things are the BEST things to have ever happened to me. As my friend, Shelly says, “Girl, they change your whole face.” I took this as a compliment.

Every time I look in the mirror to wash my hands or brush my hair, I find myself fluttering my eyes a little bit…AT MYSELF. That is weird. A lot weird really… but unfortunately, not weird enough to make me stop. They are so dang dramatic and emphatic and charismatic. I kind of can’t stop.  Just waking up in the morning, these things make you look like a million bucks.

These were probably made in the Garden of Eden. Eve had lashes. This is why Adam fell in love with her.

I think I have gone a little out of my mind over this.

Go get you some.

                                                          #BAM


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Divorce and the Land of Israel

(If you are here, the very first thing I want you to read is this: Writing about a divorce can be sticky. I would never want to hurt B in any way. So, please know this post is about the divorce, not about B.)     Rejection.   In the past, I’d had friends hurt my feelings. I was dumped in college. There were jobs I wasn’t offered. There were times I wasn’t invited. But that was pretty much it. The rejection I had felt in my life was, what I would consider, typical.   When I found out B had filed for divorce, I was devastated. Normal, right? I think so. I was intensely sad and cried every day. This too, did not surprise me. In fact, during those first few months, I didn’t fight it. When the sobbing began, I would stop what I was doing so I could heave it out until that episode was over. I also expected the standard emotions that sadness brings with it; disappointment, depression, grief. I wept through each of these and these sorrowful emotions became increasingly better wit

God, and our rental home.

I was still living in the home that once held our family of five.  Rooms were now completely empty, the living room bare and our bedroom was...well...void.  B and his kids had left. I would collapse at the smallest emotional trigger, a "train-wreck" as some people commonly refer to it. I shed tears daily, sometimes hourly. The failure of my marriage felt catastrophic.  Spiritual questions loomed in my mind. Could I hear the Lord? Where was he in all of this? Wasn't he here...somewhere? It didn't feel like it. And if he was, I certainly couldn't hear him. I'd been taking steps one-at-a-time for a couple months, but on one particular day, I was told I had to find a new place to live too. I was crushed. Taking the first steps were hard, but having to leave our home, this home we'd bought together, lived in together, made memories in together...the permanence of this step was overwhelming.  I could barely think straight.  In fact, all I really knew was that I

They've been disarmed.

“Eric held him down until the police could get the gun out of his hand.” My friend, Beth, told me this story about her husband, a firefighter who helped wrestle a person to the ground during an emergency call yesterday.    This troubled man reached and successfully grabbed an officer’s gun from her belt, but was immediately subdued when four people, including Eric, pounced upon him. They restrained him until they had retrieved the gun and could carefully stand up again.    The culprit was disarmed.   Everyone was safe.   I love a story of valor.   Just a day before, I’d been reading through Colossians and came to chapter 2, verse 15, “He disarmed the rulers and authorities and put them to open shame, triumphing over them…”   My eyes veered back to “disarmed.” The Holy Spirit seemed to be highlighting that word in my heart, giving it an intense weight. I studied it. Originating in the late 14th century, it meant to “deprive of power to injure or terrify, render harmless.” Unable to caus