Sep 3, 2021 4 min read

The only things I’ve had to buy and restock more often than peanut butter or coffee creamer are sunglasses. Being the kind of person who weekly loses or breaks sunglasses, I’ve developed a work-around that’s involved buying inexpensive sunnies when I’ve seen them on sale.

This allowed me to stash a pair or two in the car, in my purse and around the house.

The sunglasses are cheap, and they look it. Last week I wore the pair I got at the dollar store, tossed into my hand basket along with notebooks and pens because I passed the rotating rack on my way to the checkout. Out in the car, I discovered removing the price tag left a stubborn swath of goo in the exact center of the right lens. I wore them for the drive home and then threw them into the trash.

The last decent-looking pair I owned were purchased at full price about five years ago, a $70 aviator style with thin orange rims and delicate ear pieces. I dedicated myself to not losing them, carefully folding and returning them to the sunglasses holder above my rear view mirror. Those sunnies were with me for several years, until the day they fell onto the driver seat and, not seeing them because I was blinded by the sun, I sat on them. My driving life since then has been a pageant of ridiculous cheap plastic eyewear.

It was time for another decent pair.

Early this week I finally closed on the rental property that for months had been a frustrating money pit. When the closing attorney handed me the check, I felt the weight dissolving from my shoulders. Although the sale was not profitable – I lost money on the deal – the sale did represent a financial unshackling.

This called for a celebration.

I ordered a pair of genuine Ray-Ban sunglasses, the unisex kind with the squared lenses and the little logo up in one corner. At $130 on sale, they were as extravagant a purchase I’ve ever made for something that, given my track record, may not last the week.

But they are beautiful, gleaming black with tight hinges. The little sticker on the lens peeled off without leaving a trace. These were the shades that would be with me forever.

When I put them on, something wasn’t right. It felt like they were sloping downward onto my face. I pushed up the nose piece and the glasses slid back down. Took them off to inspect them, put them back on.

These glasses were too high-quality to be defective. Obviously, my head is defective. Could it be that my nose is too low? My forehead too high? My head too skinny?

A check of myself in the mirror answered my question. My ears are too high. The angle between ears and nose had created a slope that gave my new glasses the feeling of hanging from my head rather than resting against my face.

I’ve discovered my head resembles that of Arthur, the animated aardvark of the PBS cartoon. His ears sit atop his head like two candles on a cupcake. And my dilemma has allowed me to notice Arthur’s glasses do not sit atop his ears. They must be strapped around the back of his head.

I might bend the ear pieces of my Ray-Bans to see if that helps, or maybe I’ll return them, but I’ve resigned myself to the truth: I have freakishly high-sitting ears. Funny how I’d never noticed that before.

It took a week like this one – and new glasses – to make me see it.