Confessions To My Therapist
(…that’s my beauty therapist *Grin*)
Lashes, lashes… lovely lashes!
This seriously can’t be happening again.
For A Third Time!
Black burnt bits.
Thick grey smoke…
In The Air!
In My mouth.
In My lungs.
And of course my EYES…
They are full of awful thick grey smoke.
What did I do to deserve an obsessive compulsive pyro manic for a neighbour?
Do I have to take out a double page advert in the local newspaper…
Or erect a banner on my front wall?
Hey Dude… I got lovely luscious lashes, that took 90 minutes to put on, cost their weight in gold… and that make me look fabulous, (well, they did the week before)… So could you please refrain from burning your garden refuse and filling my air with thick grey smoke… because it’s mucking up my frigging eyes… not to mention stressing out my lashes so they fall to their doom, amidst the carpet tread… not a very dignified end!
You know… if I thought it would actually work, I would probably do it.
I’m standing before the mirror… with enough single lashes on my left eye lid, that I can actually count them individually.
There aren’t enough for me to count on both hands. *Sigh*
Jess is laughing so hard she can’t stand up straight, and is rolling on my bed with mirth, as the tears roll down her cheeks.
Now my right eye lid, looks relatively well adorned.
I can understand why Jess thinks this is so funny… I don’t think I’ve ever seen eyes, lashes and lids look so obviously unmatched… a word that’s just too bland to express such incongruence.
Not only have I lost my luscious lashes, but my own eyelashes have joined their fate, in obvious demise.