No evening makeup look is complete without dramatic lashes.

I once made the mistake of opting for falsies instead of my usual Hybrid Eyelash Extensions…

It was a standard, post-break up night out. You’re with your friends, you’re laughing, crying, drinking.

And then, as quickly as it started, the night was over and I was waking up in bed the next morning feeling like I’d been hit by a truck filled with vodka.

My eyes slowly opened with that early morning resistance we all get, when I was a kid I used to think the “sleep fairy” used to glue our eyes shut to help us sleep and that’s why our eyelids were sometimes crusty in the mornings. The innocence of youth, eh?  

This morning, I was feeling anything but innocent. My head was pounding and I could still feel last night’s make up sitting on my skin. It felt like someone had filled my pores with play-doh. Yuck.

I stared at the ceiling, my eyes wandered down to the book shelf, takeaway Chinese menu, then at the economics books.



Where am I?!

I turn to see the dark brown hair of someone sleeping soundly next to me. 

Oh yeah.

The hangover fog then started to lift and it all slowly begins to come back to me. I vaguely remember speaking to someone called Ben or Dan… No…. I definitely spoke to a Ben and a Dan… I wonder which one this is?

I need a wee. Oh dear, oh dear.

I can see the miniature en-suite in his room that probably cost an arm and leg to add to his student accommodation. I momentarily wonder if Ben/Dan has a trust fund or is just good with money. He is studying economics after all. 

I shuffle across the bed, carefully trying to avoid his feet. One, two three.



Still no movement from the bed. Phew.

I sneak into the bathroom and do my thing. When I’m washing my hands, I glance in the mirror and spot a black, eight-legged, hairy BEAST resting on my head.

“ARGHHHH OH MY GOD!! Get it away! Ben! Dan! HEEEELLLP!” I yelled.

This may sound a tad melodramatic, but I hate spiders.

I then start slapping the arachnid on my head, essentially whacking myself in the forehead repeatedly. With the hangover, this was agony and the room began to spin. I fell to ground and the back of my head smacked directly onto the corner of his toilet. I’m sure I still have the lump to this day… 


In flies Ben/Dan (seeing his face didn’t help me ascertain his identity), waving a cricket bat. 

“What’s wrong?!” he asks. He sounds like Prince Harry. He definitely has a trust fund.  

“S-spider!!!!” I stammer.

He then bravely removes the interloper from my head. There’s a pause as he stares at it confused.

After a moment, Ben/Dan holds out his hand and shows me, not a spider, but one of my cheap fake lashes. Needless to say, I’d beaten it to a pulp. 

Damn it.

If you love dramatic lashes, leave it to the professionals. 

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