Dear Giant Eyelash That Dwarfs Its Neighbors and is as Hard and Thick as a Piece of Rebar,
How did you come to be? To be honest, I never paid much attention to you or your colleagues until recently. Of all the random parts of my body that I’ve studied and measured over the years, the eyelashes have been ignored. Like a leaf upon the breeze, one of your kind would break loose and drift down to my cheek, but I’d brush it off with no regard for why it uprooted or when another would take its place.
But then you came along. Like every other important thing, my wife noticed you first. She looked at me with deep interest, moving in close, a smile spread on her face. I thought she was coming on to me because I am a fool.
“Honey, what’s up with your eyelash?” She said, keeping her pants on.
“What do you mean?”
“You have one eyelash that is freaky long.”
And it is true. You are a monster. An abomination. She’s trimmed you down to normal size a few times but you keep coming back, bigger and stronger with each cut. Soon you will be a coat hook.
Eyelashes are there to protect the eyeball from injury and foreign particles. Well dude, you take your job very seriously. You’ve pumped yourself up and gotten huge. Now you stick out like a greased-up bouncer on the Jersey Shore. Did you ever see the movie, My Bodyguard? (Of course you did, you are my eyelash.) You are like the big bodyguard guy, the oaf in the army jacket. You stand beside my wimpy helpless eyeball like a mute brute, ready to pummel anything that comes too close.
Well listen: at ease soldier. Next time we cut you back, fall in line with the others. Your work is done. I have other random hairs to mow.