New SunglASSes

Time does a lot of strange things to a person and at 35, I no longer care as much about the branding of my clothing as I once did. Hell, I don’t even go out so clothing and accessories in general hardly matter at all. I wear exclusively dry-fit t-shirts that cost 1/3 the price of Nike or Under Armour ones. I was going to buy a pair of jeans this weekend before I asked myself How many times did you actually wear jeans this winter? When I realized the answer was “just once”, I put the jeans back. This aging process is also why I no longer feel the need to purchase exorbitantly priced footwear: where am I going to wear it?

This phenomena extends to my preferences in sunglasses. I have owned many, many pairs of sunglasses during my lifetime. I have broken all of them except for two – I lost one of them at a Damien graduation and I think my head got too fat for another. Otherwise, every single pair of shades I’ve owned have met an untimely demise. That trend continued this weekend.

1

You served me well, Tommy Hils. 

Just as we were set to leave the house for dinner on Saturday night, Lynnette broke my most recent pair of sunglasses. I am not used to driving in my car with passengers and consequently, the front passenger seat is more like personal storage. My sunglasses were resting on the passenger seat and I only realized this as Lynnette lowered herself into the car. “NOOOOO!” I shouted as Lynnette lowered her rump onto the seat. I shoved my hand between her butt and the seat in an attempt to save the glasses, but I was too slow, Lynnette’s hindquarters too deadly. She sat on both my hand and the sunglasses, and I heard that horrifying sound of crunched plastic. I recovered the glasses to find that one of the arms had been irrevocably displaced. I cannot wear these glasses in a way that makes me look like an acceptable member of society. “I’m so sorry,” Lynnette said. “It’s OK,” I said. Now, it should be said it did occur to my juvenile brain that these glasses went out the exact same way I’d want to go out. I could not wish them a fairer death.

2

Let’s see how long you can survive my clumsiness and Lynnette’s world-class ass, new sunglasses.

Coincidentally, our first stop after my sunglasses were ruined was the Art and Flea in Mililani. A vendor was selling sunglasses made of reclaimed wood. Now, this isn’t exactly my bag, baby, but I since I was out a pair of sunglasses, I tried a pair on. They were light. “Here, this pair is a little wider, for wider faces,” the vendor said, handing me a pair. I like that he said “wider” instead of “fatter”. I mean, we both know the score, but I can did euphemisms every so often. Anyway, they fit well and they are very light. The end of the arms don’t feel like they’re pinching the sides of my skull. I turned to Lynnette for her feedback and she said they looked fine. I generally value her opinion on these things but this time I silently wondered if she just wanted me to get a replacement pair as soon as possible so that I wouldn’t stretch the quest for new sunglasses on forever, which I have been known to do. It’s also possible that she knew if the search for new shades became a prolonged one, then tales of her elegant yet powerful behind would grow.

So that’s where we are now. I have a new pair of sunglasses that are living on borrowed time. How long will they last in my life? I don’t know. This world is so fleeting. But, thank you for your pains, Tommy Hils sunglasses. Fare thee well.

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