- I am useless at applying mascara, and spend more time jabbing myself in the eyeball with the wand than applying it to my actual lashes; or
- I haven't washed my makeup brushes in about three years; or
- The cat tends to eat my eyelashes when I am sleeping; or
- I am just generally disgusting.
I did, however, venture out to the chemist at my local Westfield, where of course I bumped into 75 people I knew, all of whom looked at me strangely, but none of whom worked up the courage to ask me what the hell was wrong with my face.
I went to the pharmacy and asked for help and they advised me to bathe my eye with saline. And then they sold me a packet of ten saline solutions, and ten little sterile eye-baths.
And because I couldn't wait to commence the process of becoming less hideous (and, also, to be able to see) I went straight to the public toilets to perform the procedure***.
I took out one of the eye-baths and a tube of saline, broke the top of the saline and filled the bath. It is a small, oval shaped container that fits over your eye. You bend down, place your eye over it, tip your head back and the water sloshes around in your eye-ball.
Or so the theory goes.
I didn't hold the bath firmly enough against my eye, and so the solution ran down my cheeks and on to my top. It was a little embarrassing, as I came up gasping for air with water dripping down my nose and into my mouth. But the other toilet patrons studiously ignored me, and I patted my face dry with a paper towel and pretended that it had all gone to plan.
There was still half a tube of saline left, so I tipped the rest into the cup and decided to try again. This time, I pressed my eye more firmly against the bath, until I felt the pull of suction against my skin. I tipped my head back and the water rolled beautifully around my sore eye. I felt triumphant and delighted. I knew that the infection would soon be gone.
And then I tipped my head back down and realised there was a problem.
The eye-bath was still suctioned to my face.
I tugged and I tugged but I couldn't break the hold. Women came, looked at me curiously, and hurried out again. I smiled and shrugged my hands in helpless despair and wondered if I could make it home with a cup on my eye. In the end, I decided I couldn't, as my sunglasses wouldn't fit over the cup, and so, with one final, determined tug, I yanked the fucker free.
My eye is now even sorer than ever, but I have decided to leave the healing to time. It is a week till my next modelling job and hot date**** and I can't risk having to go to either with a cup on my face.
*Disclaimer 1: I don't have any modelling jobs
**Disclaimer 2: I don't have any hot dates
***I mean the eye-bath. No other 'procedure' requiring a bathroom. Just to clarify....
****Disclaimer 3: I have neither
