I’m not sure which hooligan was in charge of handing out the long, luxurious eyelashes but lemme tell you what: I am not impressed.

Serious, I have been not-so-blessed with some super itty bitty lashes. They are straight, tiny little things that barely improve with mascara. It’s a travesty to the 100th power.

So tragic. So sad.

A couple months ago, one of my beauty boxes sent me a tube of eyelash growth serum by Smartlash:

Could this be it, the start of my movie star transformation? It promises to make a noticeable difference in a mere 28 days. That’s not unbearable; I can totally wait 28 days. Hell, it’s only been 39 years, what’s 28 more days amiright?!

I have diligently without fail applied Smartlash to the T, twice a day sweeping it along the roots of my lashes like a good girl should. I have been more faithful to Smartlash than any diet I’ve ever been on where someone has sat beside me eating a chocolate cake with extra loud food noises and lip licking. Serious, don’t do that; I will bite you.

I’ve digressed.

It’s now been almost 2 months since I’ve started my regimen, and thought perhaps it was time for a little before and after. I had taken my before picture the night I started, and to make it super scientific and official, I took my after picture in the same bathroom at the same time of day in the same position in the same spot.

And out popped this piece of crap:

What the sam holy hell is that?! Where is my dramatic reveal? I’m not even kidding, where is it?!

Top is before, bottom is after. But it doesn’t make a dadgum bit of difference because it’s practically the same effing picture. Boo. Hiss. I’ve wasted almost 2 months of my life applying this quote-unquote serum, and I have nothing to show for it. I no likey one bit.

So I am still suffering the Plight of the Short-Lashed People. Where I buy Japanese eyelash curlers because I was told they were my only option (it does help; Shu Uemura if you’re curious). Where I spend an exorbitant amount of money on mascara full of promises and money-back guarantees. Where I stare longingly at everybody else’s eyebrow-touching eyelashes with only a smidge of Creepy Creeperton.

However, I have not given up. I will find a solution to this problem. I will permanently adhere falsies if I have to. I am determined, I am steadfast, I am pressing forward the only way I know how.

With pit stops at Ulta and Starbucks of course.