Dear 30 Year-Old Ray-Bans,
We had some great times together since that fateful day upon whence my father bequeathed you to me. I promised I would never fail nor forsake you. But I never expected you to suddenly snap apart while walking down a Kingston roadway…
I reminisce about the road trips, the times I used you to cover my obvious semi-inebriated state during Floss n’ Toss, and the ability to obscure my identity to tens of anonymous readers. And they came to read about business skool…HA! The buffoons!
Alas, I carry you in my satchel with sorrow and a slight case of heartburn due to that KFC Famous Bowl I ate today (oh, soooooo good…). Super Glue didn’t revive you, so now I have to succumb you to the infamous Gun of Solder that has claimed the lives of many, many inept people. And bystanding dogs and insects.
Please, oh sweet mound of metal, come back to a state. You love my face and temples as much as I love your ability to make people mistake me for Tom Cruise (at a distance of 40+ yards). I’m attaching a photo of one of our better times together. Gee, wasn’t that FUN?!