Lashes of Fun

Racquel’s cost centre #2 is a beautiful girl and on the side she does a good line in eyelash extensions, she has very kindly offered to do one for me as an experiment. Not an indulgence I’d ever have countenanced, on a par with false nails and Brazilians. Mind you I’ve tried one of those and I won’t say which.

Not being accustomed to girl grooming in the house, when CC#2 Girl Version arrived via her lashful mother I’d no idea what I was letting myself in for. First of all girls talk, about, like, OMG, random, things. The first good news is that I have, like, actual lashes, they’re just very fine (and I know very blonde, like a rabbits, only they’re already dyed, yes this is over, over doing it, but I’m a sucker for research). The second thing is I’m allowed lie down on the sofa with a blanket and close my eyes, not, mind, squeeze them or inhale the glue. An hour later, having learned a great deal about young women and their aspirations, I try to open my eyes, apparently most women find this easy, only I think I’ve got double conjunctivitis. In the midst of all this I hear the front door opening, cost centre #2 I call, obviously not those actual words, as he’d think I was a ditz, everyone is anonymous on this blog, but it turns out to be Lodger #1.

A bit disconcerted with me prostrate on the sofa and young female hovering over my head, I try to introduce them, in vain, and being a good hostess, create the link, ‘remember the girl date, this is her daughter, she’s doing something with my eyes.’

I hear a faint grunt of full-on embarrassment as he retreats as fast as he can.

Alicia, for that is nearly her name, says we’re done here. I leg it up to my bathroom for there is no way I’m prising my eyes open unless I can see what they look like myself.

Imagine a very early Bond movie, there’s a pale blonde with a sort of cat’s eye wing going on, all I need is a chiffon negligee and fluffy kitten heels, maybe it’s more Bewitched, as in the wrinkly mother of Samantha. I stifle a scream, the workmanship is faultless it’s just that I’m not the right vehicle for this look – going skiing.

Alicia tries to pacify me with a scissors and snips some of the fluttery side lashes. More, cut more, I plead. No, I’m not cutting anymore you’ll have none left.

She leaves. I pace. If a butterfly fluttering its wings in Japan can cause a tsunami in San Francisco or whatever, this will cause an avalanche in the Alps. I fidget and pluck a few off only to make the entire thing worse.

Lodger #1 is ready for his Friday night out. Taxi ordered, suited and booted. We meet in the kitchen and I explain why I’m pulling bits of glue from my eyes and the benefits of this sort of procedure. Economically, it is one of the most expensive salon treatments, especially if you go for mink. ‘Mink’ he squeals, and we ponder whether we should open up a salon ourselves. Half an hour later his taxi still hasn’t arrived, him not being of the Hailo persuasion. It dawns on me I can do a good deed and say I’ll drive. I’m being Cinderella again and as I’ve been taxi for ex husband today I’ll go one more. We drive into town and he’s highly amused, saying he’s going to put me on Tripadvisor, great landlady, taxi service provided, until I tell him I was up on a B&B website recently offering day trips to Glendalough.

‘What? I didn’t get that included in my package!’

Dublin Airport here I come.