Today, we welcome Ruth Yunker, author of ME, MYSELF and PARIS: One Toe Under the Eiffel Tower The Other In the Grocery Store is what Paris. She brings a new perspective of sunglasses. I must be one of the few So Cal people who don't care that much about sunglasses. She might find that blasphemous. (g)
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I squint in the sun, which causes lines around the eyes, so I wear sunglasses.
They are the personification of cool, so I wear sunglasses.
I have blue eyes, which will wilt into blindness if they get too much sun, so I wear sunglasses.
I like to be invisible, so I wear sunglasses.
I live in Southern California, so I really wear sunglasses, like a lot, like all the time, like even when it's cloudy...but since that never happens in Southern California, I wear sunglasses all the time.
I love sunglasses, on me, on you, on everyone but the baby in the electric go-cart and the coyote sitting on top of the pink Lamborghini.
One time my house was robbed, and in addition to the television and dvd player, and the few diamonds I owned (they ignored my fabulous rhinestone collection, thank god) they took a basket of cheap (but fun, very very fun) sunglasses I had sitting by the door. These were my spur of the moment, I feel like wearing polka dot sunglasses today. They could elevate my mood no matter what mundane errand I was rushing out of the house to perform. So, those pig robbers took my basket of fun sunglasses on their way out, and never felt an ounce of guilt as they presented these to-die-for sunglasses to their unworthy girlfriends. They left the basket though. But this just added to the pain, seeing that basket so miserably bare and empty.
I also wear very expensive sunglasses. The kind of sunglasses where your friends, particularly your Southern Californian friends, (and Floridians too, although they don't wear their sunglasses as much because it's always raining in Florida. I know. I lived there for six long years. I had an incredible garden, and became at one with armadillos clacking across my driveway, as did my cats, but still, the issue of heat and rain grew and grew, until one day I said to the husband, hey, it's time to move back to SoCal...but I digress)...your Southern Californian friends don't look at the front of the sunglasses. No. They check out the stems where the designer's name is etched. Then, after ascertaining which designer designed your sunglasses, they lean back with a contented sigh, and then, only then, do they check to see if they like the sunglasses, and if they think you look good in them. Recently my new pair of Dolce Gabbanas passed by without comment. This is not good. I can hardly bring myself to wear them now.
Wearing expensive sunglasses says many things about you. It says you are a snob. It says you are trying to look like you have money, just as that Louis Vuitton purse you have hanging on your arm is trying to do. Expensive sunglasses say you know your sunglasses, and even though your underwear may have holes, and your bras are ripped and all the same color of gray it's been that long since you've seen the inside of a lingerie department, it is a good thing to know your sunglasses.
As I have already given a nod to the joys of cheap sunglasses, I will now address the issue of those persons who feel the need to have a negative opinion of sunglasses.
Who are you people? You know who you are. You are the ones who fry, I tell you, fry, when someone wears their sunglasses at night. Why do you let this get to you? I know. They just think they are too cool for this world, and so wear those sunglasses to keep the world at bay. Listen, it's not that at all. Those people, aside for the few who are actually recovering from plastic surgery, are drug addicts. So rest in peace. The evening wearers of shades are in big trouble already, and are to be pitied.
There are those of you who complain that you can't see their eyes when you're talking to them. I ask you--why do you need to see their eyes? Maybe they have sleep in the corners. Maybe they're bloodshot. Maybe they have liars eyes, and in that case do you want to see their double-crossing eyes? Believe me, those people have bad body language. Just look out for that.
I myself have issues with people who put sunglasses on their dogs. Because, I'll be honest here, I'm envious. Dogs are such good sports. Sometimes they even have a sense of humor, which goes a long way towards doing fun things like wearing sunglasses. I'm a cat owner. My cats would be absolutely the most adorable things in the world wearing sunglasses. But it's never going to happen. Never ever. No red-blooded cat (including my puff balls) would allow it. End of story.
And finally, yes, I admit, I feel a trifle squeamish when I see those kind of half sunglasses, half lightly colored lenses (pink, blue, amber) that some men and women wear. I understand their ambivalence about wearing spectacles, and perhaps can't adapt to contact lenses. I myself hate to have to wear mine out to a dressy evening, a quick lunch, the grocery store...
So I praise the makers of contact lenses instead. I approve of lasix surgery.
And I'll stick to loving sunglasses for purposes of keeping the sun out of my eyes, so that I won't crash into you one day, driving right through a red light I didn't even see, the sun was so bright that day, and somebody had just stolen my yellow and green Minnie Mouse sunglasses.
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ME, MYSELF and PARIS: One Toe Under the Eiffel Tower The Other In the Grocery Store is what Paris, looks like, feels like, smells like, tastes like, to an American woman, free and unfettered, sense of humor and bonhomie alive and well, alone and loving it, in the most beautiful and temperamental city in the world.
Ruth Yunker is a writer and humorist, a columnist and blogger, a short story writer and essayist. She lives in Southern California, does the New York Times puzzle in erasable pen, has two grown children, and is basically okay with babysitting her son's two cats.
You can read more about Ruth at her website.