Dear Favorite Pair of Sunglasses,
When I first lay eyes on you that one fateful post-Christmas December shopping spree at a kiosk in the mall down in San Antonio, Texas, I knew our story would be one for the history books. Prior to your existence, I had never owned a pair of sunglasses that were both hugely oversized for my face and sported a bright white frame. But, oh how fate knew that I would need you for these last nine months!
Not only did you shield me from many makeup-less days and protect my expressions when I didn’t want someone to know I was staring, but you also joined me on many adventures. You were there in my first photo shoot as an author. You went on school field trips, long commutes, a mission trip to Argentina, author appearances in over nine different cities, camp with over 100 teenagers, Schlitterbahn visits. You survived the dark recesses of my purse (suffering some battle scars from gross neglect, I know – for that, I am sorry). You had the power to make me feel like a superstar – or at least a local celebrity hiding behind oversized glasses – or at least a wannabe something important. You brought me compliments from many teenagers and friends and you never asked for anything in return. You were there to hide my tears, my fears, and my insecurities – not to mention blocking out a sun so bright at times that I could barely see the road.
Deep down I have always known that our time together would be short. Maybe because I only paid five dollars for you or maybe because I have a high turn-over rate of cheap sunglasses. Either way, you were worth every penny I spent and then some. If I could go back and do it all again, I wouldn’t trade one memory spent with you. I’d like to think you were in a better place, but I know that my kitchen trash can is pretty stinky and gross. Therefore, I will choose to remember my favorite place for you – on my face.
RIP Favorite Sunglasses – December 26, 2008 – September 16, 2009