I just remembered something.
|Me, looking normal.|
This is too good not to share. We all have those moments we aren't proud of, right? Secrets we wish to keep, correct? Things for which we would almost assuredly die of shame should they be brought to light, hmmm? Well, I do. Before the invention of the blog, these secrets would be safely tucked away in mental lockdown in the far reaches of the corners of your brain. You know, in the mental ghetto. The place to which you only traverse once or twice a year when you have no other option, and you do your business as fast as you can and you maybe even take a gun. Or, if you are opposed to guns, then maybe a slingshot. Or an African poison blowdart pipe. Whatever. The means of personal protection is actually unnecessary, since all this is hypothetical.
Anyway, lest I be sidetracked...oh wait. So, blogging. Blogging has brought out in most of us a
desire feral and primal need to happily divulge those things which we would have otherwise hog tied our grandmothers in order to keep private. One such memory just escaped mental incarceration and immediately broke into the pre-frontal cortex. Or something. I'm no doctor. As I physically stopped in my tracks at the assault of a memory I have been quite good at repressing the last 4 months, I simultaneously cringed in horror and made a mental note to blog about it. WTF.
Those who know me well, or maybe not even them (hi family!), may recall that roundabouts 4 months ago Husband and I were blissfully wed. A lovely event, a joyous event! However, the day before the whole "I Do" business, I had what can only be described as a total body bridezilla demonic possession. Luckily, and unbeknownst to either of us, Husband happens possess a natural ability to cast out such spirits, a skill which must have laid dormant for the last 31 years.
Before we continue, hows about a gratuitous wedding photo, or two.
So there I was, the day before the wedding, putting on my makeup to go about the activities of the day, and as I swiped my mascara on my normally luscious and lengthy (read: average) lashes, the wand seemed to be wrapping things up far sooner than expected. So I did another coat- and another. Whats all this?!? My lashes were not lengthening. They were stubby and uneven and had thickened to the point where it looked like I had mini lash sausages affixed to my eyelid. I knew it, my lashes had all broken off overnight and I was doomed to look like a troll for our wedding.
And enter the demonic bridezilla unnatural horror. I burst into tears. Heaving, choking tears. Big fat streams of tears. My nose immediately went all shiny and red. Snot bubbles popped and reformed at will, streaking great runs of mucus down my stubby lashed face. My skin got all blotchy and red. My eyes swelled. An agressive amount of saliva came rushing forth to produce the unsightly spit string from top teeth to bottom teeth each time I opened my wailing mouth. I think I may have been growling. Oh it was ugly. And loud. And ridiculous. Seriously, I don't know what came over me. And the whole time, I'm just dissolving into gasping rounds of, "My eyelashes are gone! They all broke off! I'm not getting married like this! I can't do it." And so on, and so forth.
Within the first ten seconds of my howls of agony, Husband rushed to my side, surely expecting to discover a severed arm or all my teeth missing or a second head or something of equal horror. He wasn't expecting a stubby lash. BUT, and pay attention because this is where Husband should get some kind of award, after he realized what I was saying (or rather, wailing) he didn't run or scoff or slap me across the face with a long leather glove- all of which would have been appropriate actions- but he actually took my slimy face in his manly hands and inspected my lashes as though I was not some kind of devil spawn invading the body of his dearly beloved, and the idea that my lashes had all broken off in equal measure overnight was a perfectly valid claim to investigate. To say this was a temper tantrum would be an understatement.
I should say, I was still sobbing uncontrollably while husband is trying to get a look at my lashes. Hot, crying breath in his face. I'm sure the spittle was flying. The whole works.
So, after assuring me that my lashes looked perfectly normal, which took, I can only assume, all the mental composure the man had to offer, I was no better off than before. At this point I had reverted to primal sign language as my voice was no longer suitable for words, only loud, garbaling wails.
Husband was great. He pulled up pictures of me to compare the length of the lash, he assured me things were fine, he let me fall into his arms and wipe snot and tears and who knows what other manner of foul fluid all over the shoulder of his clean shirt.
And then, it was over.
The demon had been cast out! Hallelujah!
It was the hug.
But, uuuuugh, how embarrassing. I consider myself a reasonable and well mannered lady of common sense, and this display of unbelievable idiocy tops the list of regrettable moments. Seriously. I was ready to postpone the wedding so my (completely unaltered) eyelashes would have time to grow.
As it turns out, and I'm sure you saw this one coming, there was absolutely nothing wrong with my lashes. I was just panicking. Like, severely panicking. Like I'm surprised I didn't need a Valium and a paper bag, panicking. But the next day was wonderful, my lashes were luxurious, and we got all kinds of married. Perfect.
|He still loved me and everything!|
Now, you ALL should know, that my wedding photos were seriously amazing. Absolutely unbelievable. My dear and wonderful friend, Alev Sezer-Jacobs, who has more talent in her fingernail than I do in my whole being, past and present, graciously followed us around all day and put up with me being a silly bride to capture the most incredible shots. I would hands down, no questions asked, recommend her to anyone. Just for good measure, here it is again.