I wear your sunglasses at daytime

I was at a pool party recently because I am a hip dude who does neato things like that. It was the type of pool party you see in commercials—everybody was laughing continuously for no particular reason and my wife was on my shoulders in the pool playfully trying to knock over my friend’s wife, who was on his shoulders. The party was DJ’d by Ryan Gosling, who I didn’t even know was a DJ. The Coors Light beer train showed up at one point when it got too hot. All ethnicities were represented.

Also, none of that is true. Most of the afternoon was spent frantically taking care of kids in the pool while being sprayed with water guns from unknown locations and trying in vain to have adult conversations while being interrupted with information like, “The pizza fell on the ground but I ate it” and “That girl (points to boy) said I can’t swing as high as her did. I have to pee.”

That said, I did manage to get in some adult time. Some GUY TIME no less. At one point, a group of us fellas stood around a table discussing things like how we are no longer men and pretending to care about what school each other’s kids are going to next year. “Oh, your kid is going there? Cool. I hear they have good teachers. (never heard that) My oldest is going to … BABE? Where is she going next year? Whatever, she can’t hear me. You need a beer?”

I was summoned from my GUY TIME to go indoors and, before I did, grabbed my sunglasses off the table. This amused me because there were several pairs of sunglasses to choose from that each looked exactly the same. Apparently I wasn’t the only white man at the party who wears the style of sunglasses that make him feel like Ryan Gosling emerging from an L.A. coffee shop.

Sure enough, when I put on my sunglasses the following day, I wasn’t exactly sure they were mine. Unsure what to do, I just kept wearing them.

The next day, after looking at myself in the rearview mirror at red lights several times, I was more certain they were not mine. I finally decided to take a closer look and, lo and behold, they were name-brand sunglasses. Definitely not mine.

I texted my friend. Yes, they were his. He asked what brand mine were. I told him whatever brand Marshalls carries because mine are from Marshalls. (For what it’s worth, I buy cheap sunglasses exactly because of these situations, and because I break them a lot.)

Turned out a third dude from our GUY TIME session had straight left his sunglasses at the party. Ha, ha … classic Joe. And now the wives were involved.

I came home from work and right away my wife was like, “Did you take Nolan’s sunglasses? Because Kelly can’t find them and Donna messaged me on Facebook that Tonya messaged her and Joe is missing his! SEE WHAT YOU DID! Who just picks up sunglasses he doesn’t even know are his? Ugh, this is so embarrassing! Donna is coming over to drop off Joe’s before she goes to the gym, and she might see Kelly there so … are you even listening?”

The truth is that the three of us men were well on our way to casually resolving this situation before the wives became involved. Suddenly I was holding a small yellow gift bag with sunglasses and I didn’t know what was happening. Whose are these? Back at square one.

Anyway, my point is … (puts on name-brand sunglasses) … I have no point.

Nolan, is that you?

Note: This column appears in the 6/19 issue of The Glendale Star and the 6/20 issue of the Peoria Times.