By {Casey}
You know when you go to get your hair done, and you bring a picture of some gorgeous model who has the hair you've always wanted, and you think if you get your hair done that exact way, that you'll somehow end up looking JUST like her?
Welcome to my eyelash extension experience.
First of all, I showed up 30 minutes late. This is my nightmare, considering I'm the girl who says that annoying phrase of "early is on time, on time is late." After some apologies for my tardiness, filling out multiple forms and lying on basically the whole thing, I was ready to get my lash on. Is it really necessary to know if I'm pregnant before getting some falsies? Who knows for sure if I am or not? And if you're going to ask such an intrusive question, you should be considerate enough to at least provide a test. I don't want to lie, but I also can't assume...
Dawn leads me to the room and tells me to lay down on the table. There's a pillow by my knees, and a pillow where my head should go. Dawn tells me to move towards the pillow as far back as I can. I thought she meant the knee pillow, so I kept moving creepily further from her, until I realized she meant the head pillow. She then lets me know we're about to do a "cleanse". I'm suddenly glad I didn't pee before I sat down, and am all sorts of pumped to lose 10-15 pounds! Apparently "cleanse" to an eyelash lady means she's going to be taking off my non-existant makeup. Things are really going great so far.
Twenty minutes later, she's ready to start putting on the lashes. {Shit!} I realized the process would be long, but I'm suddenly wishing I hadn't drank that final tea of the day. I started to panic, as this was taking forever, so I started to flutter my eyes to make sure they weren't glued shut. You never know. My plan wasn't perfect, considering Dawn then held my eyelid shut with her thumb. I dozed in and out of what I call {daydreams}. These aren't the kind of fun, cute, lovey daydreams you're thinking of. This was more thinking spiders were crawling in my eyes (clearly, they were just lashes). I swore I heard a saw coming towards my face at one point, until I asked her what the funk was going on, only to find out a tiny fan makes the same noise as a chainsaw. Good to know.
After a few dozen questions and confirmation my eyes were NOT in fact glued shut, we were DONE! I look....good? Not great, but good. She poked me in the eye only once with the tweezers. However, only once is still more than none. In fact, it's fucking tweezers in your eyeball. Here's my problem. It all started when my extremely gorgeous friend got this done. I saw her flawless lashes and needed to know how this happened! I bought the Groupon immediately. I assumed that since we were getting this done at the same place, I would probably end up looking the exact same as her. The only difference was about 40 pounds, a few shades paler and a whole lot uglier. But hey, in my mind we would be twinsies!!!
 |
| Before Eyelash Extensions (Just kidding, I was drunk, crying and locked out of my friend's condo) |
 |
| After Eyelash Extension (Just kidding, I just couldn't take a good selfie of how I look currently) |
Now that the emotional pain is over, I'm ready to get the heck out of here. But WAIT! Dawn needs to explain everything they sell here, and why I should drop a paycheck on each item. There's the "magic eyeliner" which is smudge-proof after just one minute, although somehow my magic soap and water cleaned it right off. The "incredible makeup remover" which is oil-free...unheard of! Except in the makeup isle at your nearest CVS and Walgreens. A mascara wand without mascara on it? Now this is pure genius. You really think I'm going to spend more time brushing my eyelashes than I do brushing the hair on my head? Bitch, you're crazy. I finally get the mascara because I don't want to be there any longer. I give my ridiculous tip and head out.
I hop on the highway and run over something almost immediately. Pop goes the tire! I'd get a new one, but I just spent my spare change on eyelashes. Whatever. I then take a picture of my eyelashes in the car to send to my friend who inspired me to get these lashes. I'm feeling pretty fly (yes, I said it...fly) until I take the selfie in my car and realized, "Holy shit. I need a nose job!" I blame the car lighting. The point of these lashes was to make me feel prettier, not to make me call the nearest doc for reconstructive surgery. After sending the picture and scrutinizing my nose, I decide that this is it. This is the end. I'm going to Taco Bell. Lesson learned my friends. No matter how hard you try, you're never going to look like that girl in the picture you brought in to the salon. But a Crunch Wrap Supreme can cure pretty much anything.
No comments:
Post a Comment