New, expensive acquisitions are meant to be enjoyed, not have a hold on us.

I’M THE proud owner of a really expensive pair of sunglasses. On second thought, that statement’s not quite true: I’m the slightly nervous owner of a really expensive pair of sunglasses.

The said sunglasses, which is probably worth more than the GNP of many small developing nations, were a present from my partner. They are a beautiful navy colour, and fit me so well it’s as if I were born with them growing out of my face. The shop where he bought them even remoulded them slightly so that they could sit perfectly on the top of my nose without moving. Indeed, I think I could bungee jump without those sunglasses budging a millimetre.

Every time I wear those sunglasses, I’m really, really careful. I don’t want to smudge or scratch the lenses, or chew the legs when I’m deep in thought, or drop them in the path of a fast-moving steamroller, or discover I’ve misplaced them somewhere in a cavernous airport, just as my flight is about to take off.

If those sunglasses were a rare set of 10,000-year-old relics from a now extinct civilisation, I don’t think I could take better care of them. In fact, I’m sure such artefacts would be easier to look after. I would install them in a fully-alarmed, bullet-proof case in the middle of my lounge, shine a halogen light on them, and pretty much leave them alone.

Of course, there’s nothing stopping me from doing the same with my sunglasses. Except, visitors would ask questions. The ensuing embarrassment would be too much for my partner, and he would be forced to push me in front of a fast-moving steamroller.

Life was much simpler with my old sunglasses. They cost me only RM40 from Penang’s Batu Ferringhi night market, but their relative cheapness freed me from the tyranny of having to be really, really careful. I used to toss them into my handbag without their case when there was no sun around, or tuck them into the top of my T-shirt, chew their legs, leave them sitting in my car in the middle of a hot day, and never feel any angst on those occasions when I dropped them into a monsoon drain or lost them down the side of my sofa.

Of course, I’ve probably damaged my eyes irreparably by squinting directly at the sun while being inadequately protected from those harmful UV rays. But such is the real price of cheap sunglasses.

Coincidentally, my partner bought himself a new car a few weeks ago. When he left home to pick it up, the sun was shining brightly. But shortly after picking it up from the showroom, it began to rain. Then the sun came out again and dried his car, leaving large watermarks all over his latest acquisition. I knew he wasn’t happy, because he kept talking about it. I’m sure he dreamt about it, too. The date and time of that shower will be forever seared on his memory, as if by a red-hot poker.

Before my partner gets into his car, he inspects it. When he gets out of it, he inspects it again. Whenever I open the passenger door, he always asks me: “Have you got enough room there?”

The next car could be parked three blocks away from my side of the car, but he still asks if I have enough room to open the door – just as a teeny warning so I won’t scratch the shiny, new paintwork.

My partner has given me permission to drive his car any time, but I’m not ready for that responsibility. I’m waiting until it has a few scratches and dents (not that I’m willing that to happen), then I will feel more at ease sitting behind the wheel. I mean to say, I would never be able to live it down if I were the first person to reverse his car into a low, brick wall, or scrape his tyres on the side of a kerb, or drop his electronic no-key-required ignition device into a raging monsoon drain.

The guilt would be too much to bear, and I would be forced to throw myself in front of the same fast-moving steamroller.

For the time being, I’m content to sit in the passenger seat with my new sunglasses perfectly framing my not-so-perfect face.

I just hope we don’t get any more new acquisitions that need to be really taken care of. The last time I checked, stuff is supposed to serve us and make our life easier. We should never become a slave to our possessions.

Except for diamonds, of course.

> Check out Mary on Facebook at www.facebook.com/mary.schneider.writer. Reader response can be directed to star2@thestar.com.my.

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