Up until very recently, I never really paid attention to the sunglasses in my life. We had two pairs total: one pair of Chris’s and one pair of mine and unless on our faces, these sunglasses rarely made an appearance. My sunglasses resided in my purse and Chris’s lived…wherever boys keep their sunglasses.
A couple weeks ago, I finally got sick and tired enough of all the scratches on my five-year-old Chanels that I took my happy-ass over to the Sunglass Hut and bought three new pairs of sunglasses. [For the record only two of those were for me – one brown pair, one black pair, obviously. The other pair was for Chris, because he enjoys presents too.]
When I got home from the store, Chris and I sat at the dining room table and tried on all our different pairs of sunglasses, admiring Chris’s new Oakleys with the cute very manly pattern and my Ralph Laurens, which were only decided upon after many, many minutes of careful deliberation: “Should I get the the black ones with the gold detailing and the turquoise inner frame or the brown ones with the gold detailing and the powder-blue inner frame OR the black ones with the silver detailing and the white inner frame?” [The choices, obviously, were nerve-wracking; I finally ended up with the black ones with the silver detailing and the white inner frame, in case you were waiting on the edge of your seat.] In addition to our three new pairs of sunglasses, we also had our two old pairs and a pair of old Oakleys that I’d never seen, but that Chris apparently found in a dishwasher.
So there we were with six pairs of sunglasses, which I thought were just making a temporary home on our dining room table. Except that here we are, going on a month later, and all six pairs of sunglasses are still there. And they’re annoying the ever-living shit out of me. It’s not like they’re taking up a lot of room on our dining room table. It’s not even like we use our dining room table for actual eating – in case you’ve forgotten, we live in America, where all meals are consumed in front of the TV. No, it’s just that they’re creating this unnecessary clutter that drives me, as Gwen Stefani would say, bananas, this shit is bananas, B-A-N-A-N-A-S.
I know one day, we’ll have a bigger home and dogs and children and I’m sure then all all my OCD bitching and complaining about too many sunglasses, waaah! all my cute accessories stress me out!, will seem really stupid and silly. But for now? Right now, these sunglasses are taking over my home and it’s driving me CRAZY.