by amanda tackett

Turn me loose in a Sam Moon, and my Visa is about to get a workout. I love the ability to buy 500 pairs of earrings at Sam Moon for what one would cost at Neiman’s. Which brings me to a problem. My. Little. Problem.

Sunglasses. More specifically, Chanel sunglasses.

“Wow, Mom, you look just like a bug!” This was what started it all. A pair of gigantic, oversized, super dark shades, style #5076. I thought I looked chic and sophisticated, very Jackie O. My daughter thought I looked like an insect. Regardless, I bought them.

They were black and well worth the $300 retail price. If I was inside, I swept them on my head. I wore them from dawn until dusk and sometimes beyond. My husbanded wondered if I was a vampire or had some kind of extended pupil dilation. This went on for a
couple of weeks.

“Stevie Wonder,” he said, dripping with sarcasm, “could you pass me the remote?”

“It’s rude to make fun of blind people,” I said.

“Blind people?” he asked. “Uh, no. I’m making fun of you. Take those things off. It’s 10 o’clock at night.”

“Don’t you think there’s a lot of glare in here?” I whined, sweeping my hand across the den.

“No, I don’t, and,” he paused and started singing the Corey Hart song from my youth, “I wear my sunglasses at night, so I can’t, so I can’t…” His voice trailed off, but not before my daughter chimed in.

I tripped getting off the sofa to escape their mockery. I couldn’t see. But, I looked fabulous.

As I felt the wall to make it into the master bedroom, I heard my daughter ask, “Daddy, is there something wrong with mommy’s eyes?” 

Yes, honey, there was, and still is. My peepers found a friend. A friend that transformed them from the eyes of a mere housewife, to those of a Hollywood star. I carefully placed them in the hard clam shell case on my bedside table, but not before swiping the 100% UV lenses with a microfiber cloth. The Chanel sunglass cases are as luxurious as the glasses themselves. I had to struggle a bit to open and close it. Nothing could harm my baby in there.  

Every night, when I drifted away to sleep, I would think this…I will never, ever need another pair of sunglasses in my entire life. These were the end all, be all of sunglasses.  I would never love another pair as much.

Two weeks later, the black ones were so, black. To be on the safe side, I probably needed the exact same ones in tortoise. So, I bought them too, style #5019. The only difference between the #5076 and the #5019 were the sides. The #5019 had signature quilted plastic. And were $50 more.

Before it was all over, I owned three pairs of style #5076. I needed not only black, but also the white and pink as well. Plus, I had the #5019 in tortoise. I was set for life.

“Are those real?” my friend asked.

I scoffed, “Yes,” and swept them up atop my head like a tiara.

She marveled, “Wow, Chanel, and you’ve got, what? Three pairs?”

“Four,” I countered.

“That’s like, I dunno,” she stammered.  “A mortgage payment? They must be great. The greatest glasses ever.”

I winked and slid them back across the bridge of my nose. “Sure are.”

That was, until I spotted style #6008. I wasn’t even shopping, really, the day I just had to have them. I was taking a shortcut across Neiman’s to have lunch with a friend at Northpark Mall. They were so different from the #5076 or #5019. They spoke to me. Instead of big, chunky and square, these were big, chunky and slightly tapered. True, they were similar, but the Chanel logo was in rhinestone instead of mother-of-pearl. Of course, I started with the black.

It was an impulse purchase. I’ll admit this much. I was so excited, I wore them out of the store. Later, after lunch, I confidently strode into the house.

My husband and daughter were perched on the couch watching TV.

“Well, well, well,” he said with an accusatory lilt, “looks like someone went shopping.” I tripped over a pile of laundry. The lenses of the #6008 were much darker than the others. They both started to help me up. Embarrassed, I swatted my posterior to remove a coating of dog hair and some embedded Dorito crumbs.

My daughter broke the awkward silence, “Gosh, Mom, you don’t look like a bug at all.”

My child is smart and has a wonderful, natural affinity toward fashion.

I smiled and said, “Thanks, sweetie.”

“Nope,” she swung her little head side to side, “those make you look like an alien.”

My love affair with the 6008s ended right then and there. At $425, I was not going to walk around looking like a Sleestack from Land of the Lost. I snapped them carefully into the hard shell case with the receipt and planned to return them the following day. I placed them gently on the nightstand with the others.

The following morning, my plan was thwarted. By a dog. Moon Pie, our family’s mascot, a beagle and basset hound mix mutt, was nowhere to be found.

Moon Pie is the cutest little thing you’ve ever seen. She’s got short, stout little legs and feet the size of saucers. Her fur is soft, silky even, and her ears are floppy.

I could hear her, under the bed. Chewing. She’s so cute when she has a toy or a rawhide snack. I lifted the dust ruffle to see what she working on. Moon Pie growled.

There, in her beefy, flea-bitten paws were the new #6008 glasses. Whereas, before the hard, protective case was impenetrable, I’d never actually tried to chew the hinges off. The 6008s were gnawed and destroyed. The once sleek and blingy logo was all but gone on one side. The lenses, well one lense was broken into sharp shards. The other was streaked with sparkly logo remnants. Her jowls held tiny, shiny bits of crystal and plastic.“Moon Pie,” I shrieked. “Bad girl. Very bad dog.”

Nonplussed, Moon Pie continued her efforts.

In moments of stress or dire emergency, it is said that we can muster super-human strength. It’s true. For, in one motion, I lifted the mattress, box spring, and bed frame while simultaneously grasping her withers, the area between her shoulders. I plopped her on top of the mattress, while slamming it and the entire bed back down.

My rescue efforts were in vain; the 6008s were a total loss.

To pacify myself, I headed back to Neiman’s. The 5076, 5019 and 6008 were so big; I thought I should try something else, maybe a little less than more. Then and there, I met the #5094. Retro and sort of sleek, I settled on the tortoise. The pain of losing a $425 accessory was mollified by the price tag, a demure $275.

My husband and child offered much commentary: You look like a drug dealer in the D.A.R.E. video at school. And, I wouldn’t buy a used car from you.

I went back to the 5076, for a while. I would rather die than be a blight on my community or sell drugs.

Until the day I bought a pair of 6016, in black, $300. To this day, I still love the 6016, which was shortly thereafter, discontinued
by Neiman’s. 

The 6016 marked a dramatic change. I discovered eBay. By this time, my friend, the one who admired my glasses, had her own pair. They were real. She’s a #5125. I know what you’re thinking. 5125? Seriously, this girl can pull it off and, from eBay, for less than half of retail.

I soon picked up amber and a deep burgundy, both genuine 6016s, $300 for both online. The 6016 is huge, way bigger than the 5076s or 5019s, but round. The 6016 are totally me, or were.

Last October, while packing the car for a family road trip, all three pairs were in their respective cases, in a sleek Prada tote. It was 5 a.m. It was dark, and I was wearing the 5019. I didn’t notice I’d left the Prada on the top of the car. As I turned onto the main road, my daughter asked, “What was that noise?”

That, my darling child, was the sound of a mortgage payment hitting the asphalt.

By the time I U-turned to fetch my Chanel babies, a Honda rolled over the burgundy ones, and a Hyundai took another. The Hyundai merely knocked them from the shell case; gravity did the rest. They slid, with centrifugal force, across the surface on the polarized lenses. The black pair rested in a gutter.

With only one pair surviving the tragedy, and the 6016 in scarce supply, I rarely wear them. I’m saving them for special occasions. The 6016 are my new wedding china.

As soon as I returned to Texas soil, I high-tailed it over to Neiman’s. Louis Avalon, my favorite salesperson, was stunned when I beckoned him upstairs to help me with, ahem, sunglasses. Louis snickered, “Girl, you need a 12-step program for Chanel.”

“Open the case, Louis. Now.” I ordered. I pointed to the 5120. It was love at first sight. The only thing was the color. They had a funky splotchy tortoise thing going on. The frames looked like big round plastic plates with liver spots. They also came in black with pink accents. Therefore, it was possible for the 5120 to do what no other sunglass had done before: bridge the gap between the original 5076 in black and pink. I bought both 5120s, $350 each.

This year, for spring break, we set off to visit the beaches of Alabama, another Tackett family road trip. My daughter and I would drive, and my husband would fly out to meet us later in the week. After all, someone has to work to pay for my habit.

I couldn’t wait to break in my 5120s. True, I’ve had them for months, but it was their first road trip, first time at the beach. To me, this is akin to a ship’s christening. I slid them carefully into the Prada tote. Again, it was 5 a.m. This time, I would be super careful. This time, I would not leave them on top of the car.

No, this time, my Chanel sunglasses were safe, all week. They lay in the Prada tote on the kitchen counter, right where I left them. I didn’t realize I’d forgotten my 5120s until the sun broke somewhere over Shreveport. We stopped for gas in Covington, Louisiana. Across the way, I spotted a Marshall’s. There I found a pair of big brown Calvin Klein’s for $9.99. I think I’m cured. 

Award winning writer, Amanda Tackett, can be reached at thewifeyone@aol.com.