Todays Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul

[Guest guest]

Eyelashes

By Haldeman

When I was a little girl, my mother's dressing room was next to my

bedroom.

It had three, big mirrored, closet doors opposite a long dressing table

where

Mom kept the promise of enhanced beauty in a plethora of pots, jars, tubes,

and

brushes. But, it was her collection of false eyelashes that intrigued me.

Mom wore " Twiggy " false eyelashes at night, named after the sensational

British model who was the rage. Twiggy-style false eyelashes were

star-shaped,

looking more like insects than false eyelashes. I skipped over those, and

played with Mom's more natural " daytime " lashes instead. But, putting these

" natural " lashes on was tricky for me.

Whenever I could, I'd plop myself down next to my mother's boudoir

chair,

and, carefully study her every move as she put them on. First, she'd

skillfully

apply the Duo Eyelash Glue at the base of the false lashes. Then, she would

lean in close to her lighted mirror, and starting from the center lid, she'd

gently pat the lashes into place with her fingertips.

After she left the room, I would mimic her, using her extra pair of

lashes.

But, at nine years old, my chubby little fingers weren't quite as agile as

my

mother's long graceful ones. Often, I'd end up with glue all over my hands,

and

the lashes would get all twisted and stuck together.

Then, my mother switched to the new " Individual Lashes, " which were

much

easier for me to apply.

Each strip of lashes was pre-glued. There was no need to fuss with the

Duo

anymore, and I could stick the lashes on in a matter of seconds...and, peel

them

off as soon as I could hear my mother coming back to the dressing room.

Everything changed when Phyllis moved to the neighborhood.

Phyllis

was from New York, worked in fashion, and knew the latest trends in

everything...including false eyelashes. Hers were " permanent. "

The first time Phyllis came over, I was fascinated...it was her

eyelashes.

They looked like black caterpillars, and I couldn't decide if I liked these

thick, fake lashes, or not.

Mom, on the other hand, instantly loved them.

My make-believe world in my mother's dressing room ended a week later

when

she got her own set of " permanent " lashes.

All the little plastic containers with the spidery specimens

disappeared.

When I asked Mom what she'd done with her old false eyelashes, she told

me

that she had tossed them in the trash. " I've been liberated! " she told me

excitedly. " I can even sleep with these! "

It took a while for me to get used to my mother waking up in the

morning,

wearing a nightgown and false eyelashes.

When our family went camping the following summer, her lashes looked

even

more ridiculous in the wilderness. My stepfather joked that even the bears

were

confused when they spotted her with those " things " on her eyes.

Mom didn't care, though. She loved her lashes. She told me they made

her

feel pretty and without them, she thought she looked like a peeled grape.

Mom's

worn them now for over thirty-five years. She continues to get her lash

" fills "

once a month at a salon in Beverly Hills - the only place she knows of that

still puts these lashes on.

Two years ago, she had surgery to remove a malignant lump in her

breast.

In the recovery room, still drowsy from the anesthetic, her lashes looked

heavy,

weighing her lids halfway down. " My lashes make me look kinda sultry, don't

you

think? " she whispered to me in a narcotic haze. Across the way, an elderly

man

gave her a weak smile beneath his oxygen mask. Mustering up a flutter of

lashes, Mom winked back.

Raising her left eyebrow, she whispered, " You never know when you're

going

to meet one. "