24 Free Dinners

My friend Kyle got back from London almost a month ago but he didn’t give me the Union Jack sunglasses until yesterday. They were wrapped up in a sock, tucked into a dress shoe, sitting in his closet, long forgotten after the epic journey back home from his study abroad.

When he finally remembered their hiding place and presented me with my overdue Christmas gift, I screamed with glee and ran to the mirror to try them on. They were perfect. I love the Union Jack symbol and I love sunglasses and the combination of the two was pretty much life dream status. I decided to wear them for the rest of the night. And then, obviously, the rest of my life.

My sunglasses and Kyle and I sat on the couch in perfect peace and harmony for about 20 minutes until Kyle got up to go brush his teeth. It’s important for you to know that earlier that day Kyle had bought himself a new toothbrush—a Sonicare, if memory serves—the deluxe electric kind that sounds like a lawnmower and is capable of cleaning tar off of asphalt. Because while I was thinking about what a miracle it was that my sunglasses had survived the trip from London to Portland ensconced in a shoe, Kyle was thinking that maybe it would be hilarious to sneak back into the living room, hold his new toothbrush up to my ear, and turn it on.

Never in my life have I been more sure that I was about to be decapitated with a bonesaw.

In the panic that ensued, I leapt into the air, screamed as loud as I could, and finally buried my head in a couch cushion. And while I’m not even sure how this is physically possible, the Union Jack sunglasses that had been comfortable resting on my head ended up directly under me, cracked into two pieces.

I took them to an optician today. I handed the pieces to a woman in a white lab coat and said, “This might seem stupid because I know they’re not expensive but they’re all the way from London and I only got to wear them for 20 minutes. Please tell me you can save them.”

She took them into a backroom for a moment and came out shaking her head. “There’s nothing we can do,” she said. “You might try superglue.”

So I did. And it worked. Well, kind of. They’re a little wonky and have lost the ability to bend, but while I was carefully piecing them back together at my kitchen table tonight, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. The lenses weren’t broken, I have a sweet pair of novelty sunglasses from London, and, perhaps most importantly, I didn’t get decapitated with a bonesaw.