Referring to the unfortunately unhappy effect of a naively hopeful but clueless misapplication, to the eye lashes, of cosmetic instruments.
After what seemed like hours, Melanie emerged from the bathroom, clutching her treasury of cosmetics in her gold-clipped komodo-dragon bag close to her breasts, as if in triumph. But so mascary
was that face, as of a baleful Moon of Hecate, that Helmut clutched his belly and his mouth, and poor Benjamin swooned into the lap of Natasha -- ironically the last thing that Melanie could have wanted.
A totally idiotic and anti-Erotic (with reference to the god of love himself) dividing-line, whereby one may not make a Romantic/erotic/sexual move toward someone who is not at least half one's age, plus seven more years. (Or as non-terrans sometimes say in SF stories, "seven of your years," as though to make the point about the relativity of it all,)
Phaedrus: That gladiator-in-training over there sure has the moves, n'est-ce pas?
Xanthias: Shame on you! He is only 19 years of age, and your are 26! Don't you understand that the "half your age plus seven" rule is the will of the gods?!
Phaedrus: Right, tell Aphrodite that, after she pounced on that cute Trojan cowboy Anchises; tell Zeus that, after he swept away that other cute Trojan, Ganymede.