Things Are Sometimes More Than Things (Or, Yes, I DO Have Issues)

They are sunglasses. Not the run-of-the-mill set of lenses, but still just sunglasses. Before them I had bought many pairs. They were always inexpensive and I lost them easily. It didn't matter. The first pair of sunglasses I cared about had belonged to my maternal grandfather. He probably never wore them, but just the fact that they were his made them special. I wore them all the time. They were the aviator style, which I am partial to wearing. Also, my grandfather was a real aviator so the sunglasses made me feel an attachment after his death just because of that. One day (I think) a boyfriend accidentally sat on those glasses and broke them. I'm sure I was livid, but life goes on and that boyfriend is long gone as well. So the second pair of sunglasses that I've grown attached to I got several years ago. And they've been missing for the last several months. I've bought countless other pairs of sunglasses and none of them measure up. This pair came to me through my husband. He was looking for a new pair of sunglasses. I don't think we were married yet...and probably weren't engaged either. He found a pair of sunglasses he liked and the sale at the time was buy one get one free. These weren't cheap lenses. He bought Raybans. He offered the free pair to me. It was extravagant for a girl who loses her sunglasses frequently. My "free" sunglasses retailed for more than $100. I was nervous to even wear them. It also reaffirmed my belief that the man I was dating was a keeper. I've "lost" those sunglasses twice in the 10 plus years I've owned them. The first time I lost them I found them in a beach basket, not remembering that I'd tossed them in there to avoid raccoon eyes. The second time, several months ago, I had no idea where they could be. I'd assumed they were gone for good. I bought a slew of cheap sunglasses, hoping to find a pair to compare to my favorites. Alas, it was not to be, even after probably 10 pairs. Yesterday, the weather was unseasonably warm for Minnesota. We hit 80 in April. It was magnificent. My husband used the warm weekend weather to clean out the disgusting pit that I call my car. Sand, food, toys, garbage. Gross. Suddenly, from under the driver's seat, he unearthed my sunglasses. I put them on my face and breathed a contented sigh. They are home. Again.