I should start by saying that I have always had a problem wearing sunglasses and for most of my adult life have never worn them, at least not on any kind of consistent basis. So I spent most of my adult life squinting into the California sun. My aversion to sunglasses wearing started to become apparent on my face in the latter part of my thirties. Not so much the crows feet around my eyes but the lines that were formed starting to appear near the bridge of my nose from scrunching up my face. It isn’t that I don’t like sunglasses. Quite the contrary. I think they’re super cute and can be the perfect accessory, not just practical but fashionable. The problem is that I’ve never found a pair of sunglasses that didn’t cause me great amounts of pain. I almost always get a headache from them sitting on my nose or ears. I don’t know if I’ve got a narrow head or a fat one. If the bridge of my nose is too shallow or to sticky-outie. If my ears sit too high or too low. But once the wrinkles showed up I realized it was high time to endure the pain or at least train myself to get used to wearing them and maybe eventually the irritation would fade.
I’ve gone through several pairs attempting this accomplishment until one day my sister picked out a pair and said, “try these.”

And you know what? They were perfect-ish. I could wear them at least a few hours before I had to rub my temples or the bridge of my nose. It was as if they were invisible-ish. Since I can’t convince myself to spend more than twenty dollars on a pair of sunglasses because I know how sensitive my head is and that they would eventually find their way into the glove compartment, ignored for eternity…I loved these cheap sunglasses. Yes. Lov-ED. Because heading out of a parent-teacher conference just before Thanksgiving, I reached into my purse to grab my best-ever sunglasses and one of the “arms” snapped clean off. And there they were. Dead in my hand. Rest. In. Peace. I’ve now spent the last couple of months rifling through my old forgotten pairs and also adding to the collection. And they are all? Useless.

How stupid is this? How many pairs of sunglasses does one person need? The pair front and center should be ashamed of itself. I think they’re from the era when JLo was still Jenny from the Block. And also, Bennifer. The pair in the back on the right are to Paris Hilton the reality tv show years bug-eyed.  The pair to the left of those are too blinged out on the sides and may or may not be missing some of the said blings. Front and to the left are too tight and squeeze the life out of my head and may lead to a stroke someday. Front and to the right are nice and wide but rub the inside tops of my ears so much that I often reach up to see if I’m bleeding.

The pair in the middle have the most potential, comfort-wise. The problem, aside from the leopard-print-esque-ness, is that the clear acrylic in the pattern distorts my peripheral vision. For instance, I see cars backing out of parking spots when they aren’t actually moving. It makes everything all wonky and objects are closer than they appear -ish. Which is not conducive for safe driving.

The irony here is (and yes, there is irony, though the term is being used loosely…I’m a stickler for the proper use of irony*…see below) that I have probably spent just as much, collectively, on these cheap-y versions as an expensive and perhaps custom fit pair that would most likely fit quite comfortably. But can you imagine that if I’m still mourning my fifteen dollar sunglasses…a broken pair of a pricier version would have me positively frantic!

[Side note:  *One of my favorite uses of irony is in the movie 300 when King Leonidas (Gerard Butler) delivers a speech in a bellowing voice about what savages  Xerxes and his Persian army are…as he stands atop a pile of dead Persians that the Spartans hath done slain. This movie also displays my favorite use of abs.]

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