Venus and Mars

They say blue-eyed humans are more sensitive to sunlight.  Something about the pigment in the cornea not being as capable of deflecting much light so it all funnels directly into the waiting pupil.  Maybe.  I've never actually followed up on any scientific reading of the matter.  My knowledge is assumption dressed up as confidence.  It sounds good, though, right? 

More important is my actual experience.  These baby-blues (er, north-sea-greys...) cannot stand to be without some protection.  If I'm going anywhere, I'm taking my sunglasses, and in wintertime it becomes a fanatical obsession.  Sure, the sun is further away from my northern hemispheric home, but the snow....the snow makes all things hyper-bright.

Including graveside services. 

Except, when I was on my way to a graveside service last week, I hopped into my husband's truck which did not come equipped with Sarah's Necessary Eyewear.  I didn't panic, and I certainly didn't turn around, what with Sarah's Perpetual Lateness being in full swing.  I just kept my squinted eyes peeled for a boutique or

I started writing all of this and then got disgusted with myself for taking so stinking long to get to the point.  It's exhausting being this melodramatic.  Here's what actually happened:




"Oh!  I keep forgetting I wanted to tell you this!"  I lean against the counter as Justin pours half-and-half into his coffee.  He looks at me sideways, ready to be amazed.

"When I went to that little boutique the other day and got those sunglasses?  This place is really charming and fashionable, right?  So the chick at the cash register is talking to me about the store, how long they've been open, their sales, all that junk...and I'm paying attention.  I'm in a hurry, but I'm acting like I belong there, you know?  Because I so don't."

Justin stares at me, eyebrow hitched to a say: whatever.  Trying to give the impression that Honey, you are as stylish and chic as any of those girls in that store.  He's sweet. 

"Anyway, I'm trying to pay attention, only I can't because I keep looking down at the lady's chest --"

Justin's coffee suddenly becomes very boring.  His head pivots toward me.

"-- because right at the top of her cleavage (which was overflowing, I might add) there's this gemstone thing. Like, pasted-on.  Like boob jewelry --"

Justin utters his first word of the conversation: "Oooohhh..."  He looks dreamy.  Like he's about to float away to a land of jeweled cleavage. 

"Wait...what?  I was telling you this because I thought you would laugh with me.  I mean, boob jewelry?!  Seriously?"

He shakes his head, as if knocking a chunk of mud off his lusty boots.  "Sorry.  That came out wrong.  I meant to say Ughhhhhh!"

I narrow my eyes.  He stirs his coffee. 

Boys are gross.