I keep getting adverts in my feed, does Facebook know I’m a sucker or does Mark Zuckerberg want me to look nice?
As you may remember last time I was drawn into thinking I needed sticky up eye lashes, a lash lift as it was phrased, I’m a Facebook dream. I seem to have forgotten that I’m well over thirty (insert cough here) and we have been in lockdown since I was at school, or so it feels, that every time something that reminds me of sweet freedom and high heels comes onto my radar, I’m all over it like Covid over, erm, the world.
So my newest purchase was magnetic eyelashes.
Not the top and bottom ones applied with pinchers that are now filling my feed, but the ones you simply swipe a winged eyeliner pen across and hey presto Ru Paul.
I have a new job. Am I really unemployable? if you need a refresher, and on my first day, wanting to make the right impression, and not look like someone whose eyelashes had been recently singed in a fire, I drew on the black eyeliner and hoped for the best.
And the best was gloopy.
Picture yourself drawing black cream cheese across your eyelid, aiming for the liquid liner look. Now picture yourself eyes cast downwards and not blinking until it was dry. Yes, sister, you can do it, and I did. Now stick those ‘natural’ look lashes on, and, drum roll please, yes they stick.
A miracle indeed.
I am well aware of my own face having been adorning it with slap for the last 30 years and, to be honest, the winged eyeliner wasn’t too big a task. I’m dark anyway so can get away with more than my fair-haired sisters-in-arms when it comes to tar on the minces. And get away with it I did.
Until mid afternoon…
When the buggers started to lift in the nose corner. I felt like Rebecca Ferguson on The X Factor, all lash and no sob story. However, today, having been there nearly a whole week, I asked my line manager if my eyes looked different.
“No, why do you ask?”
I’m taking that as a triumph, if a fellow woman didn’t know that I had fake lashes on that’s got to be a win.