Bombshell.

Bombshell.

That’s the name of the mascara. It’s sheer marketing brilliance targeting women who identify closely with the song “Brick House” and feel the attributes of the product will be bestowed upon them with a wave of the (mascara) wand. We cannot not buy it, truth be told.

So, I did.  Buy it.  Because ladies and gentlemen I like my eyelashes big and bold and I strive for 40’s pin-up girl wide open eyes.  In ten words or less I aspire to be a bombshell, so this noun was speaking directly to me.  

With my dim make-up lighting, nearsighted peepers, new plumping mascara, and magical array of beauty potions all laid out on my vanity that first morning it almost seemed possible to live the life of a bombshell...until it wasn’t.

Day number one found me positively breathless with the final results that were lashes so lush that whenever I blinked I stirred up a breeze lifting my hair playfully as though it was a photo shoot.

And I looked so awake.  It wasn’t until I was in the midst of conducting a meeting at work that my uh-oh possibilities began to unfold, the first one being when one eyelash hooked onto an entire eyelash grouping.  It stuck there forcing me into a full-on wink.  

As I continued to lay out the agenda I valiantly blinked with intention to get that individualistic but aggressive eyelash to back off of its attack upon the rest of the well-coated troops. To no avail.  

Now I was winking, blinking, sweating, and saying gawd knows what.  I’m the marketing director for a law firm and this was a budget meeting so you can get a sense of how big this problem really was getting:  “Certainly, I can quantify that $3,500 expenditure.”  (Wink!)  “As you can see here by this flowchart we realized a 65% increase in new client queries within a six-month period. (Blink!)  “Absolutely, I would welcome any further questions about our 2014 budget.” (Looonnnggggg wink!)

I managed to end the meeting quickly gathering up papers I could barely see because my eyelashes were in such disarray I felt as though I was trying to see through a thousand Tarantula legs.  And how was I going to explain this to the marketing committee?  I had a mascara malfunction?  Now there’s a way to really distinguish yourself as a powerful woman in Professional World.    

Back in my office I managed to tweezer organize my eyelashes back into some semblance of order and I finished the day out without utilizing any sick leave.

Quick on the uptake for some things, not so much on others after my first day’s travails I went into day number two with mascara wand firmly gripped in my teal-nailed hand ready to think things could be different.

I wasn’t ready to give up my bombshell pursuit and I soooo had this. It was my day off; no meetings.  What could possibly go wrong?  

I toddled off to my work-out and little did I know that I would be kicking it up a notch that day with a personal eyeball work-out add-on. When my heartrate kicked up I began sweating and my lashes clumped together so hard I actually had one eyelash on each eye.  And they were heavy!  It’s a group fitness class incorporating boxing with bobs, weaves, and punches which was handy when I weaved my way over to the sidelines, punched my finger into my eye, and bobbed down in pain trying to rectify my situation with my little white towel.

You know what that got me?  Dozens of white fuzzy balls on my very black, wet, long, two (singular) eyelashes.  Dismay does not speak to this situation strongly enough.  I did the best I could to clear my line of visibility so I could finish my class and act as though nothing was wrong at all costs.  (Unlike in my meeting the day before winking actually helped me out on this one.)   

I’m back to my old Great Lash mascara which leaves me looking less like a bombshell and more like a raccoon, but at least I’ve regained my eyesight and ability to blink like a normal human being.  

There’s a new product I’d like to try, but I’m somewhat embarrassed to make the purchase because I’ll need a brown paper bag in order to transport it to the checkstand. It’s called Falsies. What could possibly go wrong?