THE THINGS I GET TALKED INTO

Over the years my children have managed to talk me into doing things that if I had a clear moment to think about, I would probably never seriously consider. For some inexplicable reason, my usually dependable common sense seems to fly out the window when my daughter becomes involved in matters of beauty and fashion. There have been many purchases I have regretted upon returning home from a shopping excursion with her. Last week, as we were preparing for the big day, Brittany suggested we go and get manicures and pedicures. Safe. I love my painted toes. It was then suggested that we get spray tans (I wonder who's paying for all this?). I declined, worried that I might end up too dark or perhaps even orange. Smart. Brittany did not turn out orange but you should see the inside of her white T-shirt. Her wedding dress didn't fair much better. The crowning glory to all the beauty prep? Eyelash extensions. No, not the false eyelashes that go on in a single strip across your eyelid but rather a lengthy and expensive process of glueing longer and thicker lashes to each of your existing lashes. Once done there is no need for mascara or eyeliner. Did I mention these are expensive? As the technician pointed out, they do last for two months if you look after them.

All my life, I have wanted longer eyelashes. Mine are short, sparse, very fair, and they are hardly noticeable even when I am wearing globs of mascara. I worried though that the extensions might be too drastic and I debated with Brittany for a long time over it. She won and we made the appointment in Toronto (this service is not available in the city we live in). Brittany went first. It took the better part of an hour to glue them on. She looked great. My turn next. I lay down on the table, the technician taped closed my eyes, and proceeded to glue on the shortest lashes in her collection then almost an hour later, handed me a mirror. I wasn't impressed. Maybe there is a reason I don't have long, dark lashes. I got back to our hotel and my little grandson was reluctant to give me a hug and kiss goodnight. I went into the bathroom to check out my new lashes and laughed so hard I almost fell over. My boys could hardly contain themselves when they first saw me. Brittany thought they looked great and my husband thinks they are nice too. Seriously? How can you not break out into fits of giggles when you see me?

I have to thank all those that came to the wedding receptions (there were two) and did nothing but look curiously at me as they came through the receiving line. I appreciate your feigned ignorance of my ridiculous lashes. Why do I let Brittany drown out the little voice of reason that warns me against these follies?

It's been almost a week and I am starting to get used to them. I am no longer startled when I catch my reflection in a mirror and I am getting used to the way people check them out when talking to me.

I won't be posting pictures.