Last Friday afternoon, on an uncharacteristic but exhilarating whim, I decided to get me some eyelash extensions.  I’m still not sure how it happened, but it may have had something to do with the half-price coupon in my gmail and an alarming pre-makeup glance in the mirror.

I know what you’re thinking:    eyelash extensions are merely the latest expensive, desperate toss into the fountain of youth by the increasingly vain modern woman.  And you’re right; I know you’re right.  But I don’t care.  I got ’em, I love ’em, and I pity da fool who tries to stop me from gettin’ ’em again.  Here’s five reasons why:

1.  I get to go to the spa—like, all the time.  

If you want to keep the peepers, you gotta pay the piper, and that means monthly visits to the salon for upkeep.  Some women would look at this as a drawback, but I say it’s the black on the lash.  Last Friday I went into a clean, light, soft-smelling room and lay on a clean, light, soft-smelling bed.  Then a cool pair of hands gently applied the gems while I dreamed of the hapless men I must needs reject once my new lashes were in place.  Yes, sir, as a matter of fact, I AM married…three kids—I know, no one can believe it—oh gosh, these silly eyelashes?  They DO get me into trouble from time to time… This scenario somehow concludes with my adoring husband handing me a dozen roses as I walk up a stage to accept an award for Best Actress.  (For what role, I’m not sure.  I just know I win.)  Such is how I spent, and will continue to spend, My Time At The Spa.  I say no price is too high.

 2.  I never have to wear mascara again.

Or eyeliner, for that matter.  Not that I wore tons before, but because of my light eyes and lashes, I did need a little to look not dead-ish.  But now I have the drama of a diva with the maintenance of a granola girl.  (Has anyone said “granola girl” since 1992?  Let’s bring it back.)  It’s a delicious little paradox, really; I’m wearing no makeup, so I look au natural, except for these big fake eyelashes, which don’t look so aw natch-oo-roll, thus throwing me more into the ’80s diva category.  But my “lashes” aren’t covered with any mascara, so I’m technically makeupless, which makes me a granola girl again.  But they’re also made out of mink (no kidding!), which turns me back into a diva.  Of course, the mink is a “natural” product (granola girl) but it’s also an animal product (diva–not to mention a glaring invitation for PETA to hunt me down.  Have you seen what they do to women like me?)  And ’round and ’round I go, swapping identities quicker than the flash of a fake lash.  It’s really kind of fun, being both of these gals; who knows which one of us will show up at the church potluck?  I like to keep my admirers guessing.

3.  No more gunk under my eyes

Besides raising my kids and writing this blog, I’ve spent the better part of the last five years wiping away smeared makeup from under my eyes.  No matter how expensive the mascara, how waterproof the mascara, how long I’d blow-dried the mascara (cool setting, eyes half closed, can you spell pa-the-tic), I would constantly find smudges of the nasty tar settled somewhere between my fine lines and my crow’s feet.  I’d wipe in the morning, the gunk would be back by noon.  I’d wipe at noon, it’d be back by three.  I’d wipe at three…you get it.  So instead of just looking old and tired, I would, thanks to my mascara, look old, tired, and hungover.  But now that I’m wearing mink (see: diva), my wipey-swipey days are behind me.  Now when I check myself out in the rearview mirror, I see nothing under my eyes but acres of shiny peach concealer.  It’s awesome.

4.  I wake up every morning looking like Brigitte Bardot.

Or Tammy Faye Bakker—but tomayto, tomahto.  Whoever I’m channeling, I only have to roll out of bed and look out, Kennewick—it’s game ON.

5.  They make me look younger.

She said so!  She said so!  The lady at the spa said so!  I, for one, believe her (why would she lie?), but I’ll let you draw your own conclusion from the creepy picture below.  I blink, you decide.




Okay.  So maybe the new lashes don’t make me look young, but you gotta admit:  they do make me look wide awake.  Or plainly terrified.  (But at least not hungover.)