I’d like to take you back in time, to a fateful winter’s day two years ago.
I was getting ready for a race meet held in my home town (only the single biggest social event of the year) when my day turned from happily tipsy to horrendous.
I’d woken up pre-prepared.My hair was washed, my skin was spray tanned and my teeth were freshly whitened. The day was going smoothly. My favourite part of going to social events is getting ready beforehand, anyway.
Music playing, champagne in hand… or all up in my mouth, whatever.
After setting out my required beauty products for the day (all 456 of them), I was ready for hair and makeup. I had blow-dried and straightened my hair to within an inch of its life and was proceeding to make up my face. The base coat went on without a worry. Either my makeup skills were impeccable and I was looking fabulous, or I was on the express train to drunk town.
When it came to my eyes, I couldn’t remember whether to put my false eyelashes on before or after eyeshadow and liner. My plans halted for a minute while I Googled what the hell I should be doing. After some heavy research, I realised I should finish my whole look and then put my lashes on last. After bronzing my cheeks, the moment of truth arrived… eyelash time.
Now, just for some background info, I wear contacts on a daily basis. Blind. As. A. Bat. This means I have to wear special fake eyelashes that don’t use glue and already have the sticky stuff on them (yay).
I popped the lashes on my first eye – nailed it. Seriously, it couldn’t have gone better.
The second eye will haunt me forever.
I was pressing down here and there, hoping the lashes would stick to my eyelid. Tick. Examining the finished result in the mirror, the lashes looked far too long and fake... so the murder weapon was brought into the bathroom.