Please, ruffle my feathers
I am very lazy when it comes to mascara. Not putting it on; although I have done some stupid things whilst doing so, like being too lazy to remove my hat, losing my grip on the mascara wand, splodging black on the inside of the brim, and then spending five precious minutes trying to clean the stain. I did this two mornings ago.
Rather, it is the process of removal I find unutterably tedious. I only want to go to bed, but – no matter the formula of my remover – the tiresome stuff defies eradication, so most days I just don't bother with it. Plus, have you noticed mascara makes your eyelashes feel like straw? No-one likes hair product that does that: “Darling, let me run my fingers through your hair.” … “Ouch! Get your fat hand out of my hair, you oaf!”
That’s not hair sweetheart, that’s a blackberry thatch lying in wait to ensnare some unwary man. Oh hang on; this might not be altogether a bad thing…
Although, I suppose gentlemen don’t usually caress one’s eyelashes, do they?
But just cast your peepers over these pretty little things: false feathers! Aren’t they darling? They were so cute I had to buy them. The only thing that could have made them even more irresistible would be if they were iridescent like real birds' feathers. (I suspect they will one day cause me more frustration than mascara, however.)
They do bring new meaning to fluttering one’s eyelashes though, don’t they? Now, I just need to find a man who would be willing to ruffle them a trifle…