I was in my bedroom the other day, listening quietly to my sister in the bedroom upstairs. She was Skyping her friend in Australia and had just launched into a description of her new shoes, when I began to grow restless. It wasn’t really her fault – we live together, so I already know most of her news and opinions.

I tuned out and began instead to imagine my perfect set of eyelashes. I like my eyelashes like my men: thick and smiley. That is one of my little jokes. In reality, I am drawn to intelligent depressives. I beg your pardon? How does that work out? Oh . . . fine. Well, you know yourself.

Anyway, the ideal eyelashes fan up and out. They lend the face a look of constant, wide-open happiness, however melancholy the soul. I use whatever it takes to jazz up my peepers – mascara, hairspray, a lighter . . . anything. No gaps, no stragglers.

One of my greatest fears involves my eyelashes. I’m about to reveal a vulnerability so if you’re my enemy and you’re fair minded, you’ll stop reading now. Mother? I said, stop reading. Mother; I’m warning you. I shall break your glasses, Mother.

Anyway, I am terrified that one night a killer will sneak into my bedroom and snip off my beautiful eyelashes and then . . . not kill me. Take my sideburns, take my moustache, but I don’t want to be alive in this world with no eyelashes.

My other huge dread is that after the apocalypse I’ll be the only survivor from the Western world. I’ll wander around, forlorn, missing my iPhone. Then I’ll come upon a group of children from a country with a GDP per capita of €13. Real cuties.

I’ll explain how hungry I am and take a bag of Chickatees from them with my plump white hands. As I do so, one will say, “But why didn’t you help us when we needed you?” I’ll have to tell them how up the walls I was in 2012, with family stuff and work and Twitter.

I’ll mention the recession and how difficult it was to source organic pork, but how important, because the other stuff is full of antibiotics. I’ll explain what antibiotics were.

I’ll emphasise again how busy I was, barely able to commit to a yoga class, let alone think about some strangers’ problems! I’ll trail off, tactfully licking my fingers, and they will look at me sadly for a really long time.

If eyes are windows (please go with this metaphor, the entire next part depends upon it), then eye sockets are frames. Eyebrows are pelmets – that’s why they date badly. Eyelids serve as curtains, and eyelashes? What are eyelashes? They are flower boxes. Eyelashes are flower boxes that decorate and prettify eyes: windows, see? My wish is to one day achieve flower boxes so great that my face will win the Tidy Towns competition.

Everyone will be jealous of me because the graceful Mary Kennedy will present a special Nationwide from my forehead. I won’t blink for the entire episode.