Seven Days

by Sarah Marshall

Who can blame you for wanting freakishly long eyelashes? Surely clicking on this link means you are far more realistic than those who look at the pages displayed beside it: the ones about being a grandmother who looks 27 while working from home and clicker-training a rescue dog. You are at peace with yourself. You want to be you — you, but with freakish lashes.

The package arrives. You apply the solution. You sit quietly, close your eyes as instructed, and are delighted to hear the sound of your new lashes thrusting themselves into the light.

What will it mean, you think, to have these freakish lashes in your life? Questions abound. Will you finally be able to put together a “Sexy Snuffleupagus” costume this Halloween? Will you have to be careful while batting them at baristas, lest you accidentally flog any small children in the vicinity? Will you be able to survive on the flies and small birds you catch while blinking, and invent a new diet in the process? Will you wear your lashes in rollers each night, or go for the tousled look? Or would they look better in a “Rachel”?

The hour is up. You open your eyes and go to the mirror. You scream in horror as you realize the company has sent you the wrong bottle: not Freakish Lashes! but Mentat for Her. Your eyebrows fall seductively over your eyes. You can’t see your reflection, but this feels like the tousled look. The phone rings and you scramble blindly for it. When you pick up, a voice rasps: “Seven days.”

Previously: Morgan Fairchild Facts

Sarah Marshall is a graduate student living in Portland, Oregon.