Don't you dare close your eyes
I knew Latisse way before she became The Eyelash Fairy. I should have seen it coming though. All signs pointed to her hovering over my bed at night and obstructing my vision.
Like her pet raccoon, she stayed out all night and they both drank, heavily. She wore denim shorts to work—at the bank. She once told me she’d sleep when she was dead. I assumed that was also when she planned to start recycling, work on her tennis game, shore up her investments, lay off the BBQ Frito Twists, turn in her firearms, pee indoors, and stop setting her ex-boyfriend’s Dodge Challenger on fire.
Latisse had many small business ideas that usually involved me loaning her several hundred dollars. They weren’t so much small business ideas as they were vacations. Although there was “chicken in a sock”, to this day, I’m still not sure whether that was for wearing or for eating. I am glad she found her calling. I’m less glad for people with a medical need for eyelash enhancement. I’m more glad for ladies just tired of mascara, and also that one guy who you know is gonna paint this on his balding head just in case. The latter two don’t have all the advantages of being sick. As Latisse always said: “I’d rather be a rabbit with a machete than have my steak cooked by pinecone feet.” And she meant it.
Here lies the ultimate answer to my vegetarianism. One night in this bed and I would eat a horseburger. This is the kind of furniture that changes your fundamental values. There must be a 
