Urgency Day 392

500 Things Items 101-105: Scratched, warped sunglasses

  • History: Purchase, twist, purchase, scratch, purchase ad nauseum
  • Value: Moral: Quality matters
  • Parting pain: As usual, just the misspent resources
  • Un-possessing: Donate if possible

This picture suggests 2 things: I’m in hiding, and I feel you watching.

Paranoid? Yes, a little.

The collection of sunglasses also reminds me that I’ve been thinking about my time as an elementary school aid. It’s one of the jobs I’ve applied for recently, having some experience at it and a connection in our local school district though my network.

Network. Network. Network. Did you know the word “network” has a Scrabble face-value of 14 points? Strategically placed and using all seven tiles, “network” could earn an awesome score.

I’m job hunting: I think about networks, all kinds, a lot.

But all those sunglasses. Here’s one example of an item that it’s probably better to spend a little more on and get better quality. A timeless pair of Ray Ban aviators, for instance, never goes out of style and is sturdier than your average pair– or five– from Target.

But, you see, there’s always a catch.

I once spent a year cheerfully resigned to contorting more than a few pairs of sunglasses, so the cheaper the better. It was the same year I called a lot of people “kitty cat” and they loved it.

Part of my routine in the school where I worked was to escort a class of first-graders from the cafeteria out to the playground for recess. I don’t know if you are aware of this, but seven-year olds are wriggly. And affectionate. Especially after lunch. And most of them only come up to about coat-pocket height, even on me.

“Mrs. T! Mrs. T!” they would chirp and press forward from their required positions in line against an institutional-beige tiled wall. I have some idea of what it’s like to be an adored celebrity from those days of lunchtime meets and greets. Twenty five up-turned faces, twenty five gap-toothed smiles, twenty five quick but reassuring mid-day hugs.

And too many times, from the vicinity of my first-grader-high coat pocket: One ominous snap.


“Was that another pair, Mrs. T?”

“Yes, kitty cat, I think it was. Silly me.”

“Silly you!”

I am not a flighty person. Really. And not in a “I-am-not-a-crook” way. Really. And anything more I say in my defense at this point just undermines that, so I’ll stop.

<tapping toes; cracking neck; scrunching mouth>

No Really!

It’s just that there were a swirl of details and last-minute chaos and a lot A LOT of kids to remember everyday. And they all knew I was Mrs. T., but I admit, I couldn’t always conjure their names quickly enough. Hence, “kitty cat.”

But forgetting I had put my sunglasses in my pocket every day at hug and greet time? Yeah, that was pretty goofy.

Six pairs crunched. Six incredibly cheap– but now it’s a sweet memory– pairs.

And now I own one pair of Ray Bans. Hard case included.

One last note: Each day, The Cafeteria Lady would give me the list of Offenders to hold out of recess because of Bad Cafeteria Behavior. I would listen to her litany of “bad bad bad” and nod along gravely. Once outside, not one of my kitty cats every missed a minute of recess. Ever.


2 Responses to “Pair-anoia”

  1. ellen Says:

    yes, yes, and yes. no one should ever miss recess.

  2. Donna Says:

    Hooray! Especially for the last comment. Kitty cats need to play.


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