My sunnies, my favorite pair, have been missing a full month.
I've looked everywhere; all my purses, my vanity, my mudroom.
I asked everyone: my mother, my father, my daughter, my husband.
I've blamed everyone: myself.
I've suspected no one of theft.
(OK, I did think maybe my sister was involved. Who doesn't even live here. PTSD from her pilfering my GAP bootcut jeans in 1998 apparently runs deep).
And finally I gave up, and returned to my camping store pair.
Those near-discarded scratched ones with the sunblocky-lenses.
The ones that make the road look a little blurry.
And then one night, on the way home from work, I bump my hand.
THUNK!
And as I cry out, "OW!" a panel drops down in the roof of my car.
I look up, as I rub my sore hand.
And alas, my stolen sunglasses.
They have been here the whole time.
In the compartment that says:
DO NOT LEAVE SUNGLASSES IN THIS COMPARTMENT.
THE SUN WILL CAUSE TEMPERATURES THAT WILL MELT THEM.
And so I never store mine in there, because I am a compliant person.
Is this how Matthew McConaughey's character felt in Interstellar, when he was stuck behind an infinity tall bookcase, trying to contact his loved ones?
Have my sunnies been throwing shade at me all this time, through a slit in the compartment?
Taunting me, begging for me, laughing at me?
Well, now I have my prized pair back, and a goose egg on my hand.
I'll take this as a net win.
= = =
Don't ask me where they are, now, however....
