It is when the sun starts making appearances this time of year that I find myself wondering why I don’t have any sunglasses.
I squint and drive eastward in the mornings and scribble myself notes to buy sunglasses.
Then, two or three or ten shopping trips later, the stars align and my memory of needing sunglasses meshes with my being somewhere that sells them.
This happened two weeks ago, when I thought I was being so clever buying two pairs.
Within 24 hours, the first pair was in the trash, the victim of “Babby do!” and my foolish “Ah, well, she knows how to wear HER sunglasses, so she’ll be nice to MINE” reasoning.
This afternoon, the second pair hit the trash, though I have no one to blame but myself.
I have been reinforcing the “Mom
my only” status of these sunglasses, hoping to get at least a couple of months out of them.
Then I go and do something silly like feed Molly, the gray and white cat who lives in the tin shed (where Babby’s bike also lives), and step on them.
What’s a mom to do? I resolved years ago not to spend more than $5 on sunglasses, because mishaps always fall on my shades. The pair I remember having the longest – maybe a year – disappeared mysteriously (maybe it was time for them to “go home” to the great sunglass resting place?) and might be uncovered by my grandchildren if they got reassigned to a box that lives upstairs somewhere.
Ah, well, time for more squinting and creative use of the car shades.