The Sad Tale of Daisy Golightly and the Baby Teeth

Have you noticed the resurgence of big, beautiful, black Breakfast at Tiffany’s type sunglasses? You know, like the ones Audrey Hepburn wore as Holly Golightly? They’re everywhere. I mean, they’re all the rage. Chic. Fashionable. Hot, hot hot!

I had a pair of those once. They were magnificent. I held onto them for years, YEARS, because I loved them so much. They made me look chic and sophisticated, yet fun and mysterious. Those sunglasses made me look like a star! I didn’t give a damn when everyone else started wearing those skinny little sunglasses. I kept right on wearing my fabulously round, dramatic, positively huge sunglasses. I was Daisy Golightly when I wore those.

Fashion is cyclical, so I knew those sunglasses would be back in fashion one day. And I’d be ready. At the forefront, even!

Ahhh, but here’s where my sweet tale of reminiscing turns sour . . .

I’m a packrat. A serious one. I save for sentimental reasons. I save because I’m convinced what I’m stashing away will become wildly valuable one day and we’ll be filthy rich. I save because I can think of lots of creative things to do with assorted stuff, like add it to my art and craft projects . . . one day . . . when I have time. I save because I like to collect weird, unique stuff. I save because . . . because I breathe.

My husband says he can picture me as one of those befuddled little old ladies living amidst a maze of stacked floor-to-ceiling newspapers one day. It probably has something to do with the features sections I save and keep on the kitchen table to read when I get time. I’ll read something aloud to him over coffee and he’ll give me a funny look, saying it sounds vaguely familiar. He takes one look at the newspaper’s date and dissolves into laughter. Hey, it’s the features section. It’s not like it’s the late breaking news, you know? So what if it’s 8-months old? Who cares?

This past weekend I came across my all-time favorite pair of genuine tan suede moccasins with fringe all around the ankle that I got for myself the year my daughter was born. She’s an adult now. I also found the swizzle stick from the lounge where I had my first cocktail, along with a matchbook from the place (clearly a collector’s item because the lounge is no longer in existence). It’s from *ahem* several years ago when I was 21.

I also saved every one of my daughter’s itty-bitty baby teeth in a tiny little plastic tooth fairy box. It’s tucked away in my jewelry box with all my other valuables. For some reason my husband and daughter seem to think it’s really gross and weird that I saved those teeth. If you’re like them you’re making that horrified nose-wrinkling expression right now too while you’re reading this.

I’ve got some cool stuff too. More, um, normal stuff. Like my giant collection of Nancy Drew books. Some that go all the back to the 30s! (No, I was NOT around then). And all the Pillsbury Bakeoff books from the first to somewhere in the 1980s. And the 1972 Cosmo with the Burt Reynolds bear rug centerfold. And a full semester’s worth of Weekly Readers from when my daughter was little. And a penmanship workbook from when I was in the first grade.

I’ve scrounged and scavenged through thrift stores, estate sales, garage sales and, yes, I’ve even rescued things from the garbage. Like the perfect pair of practically new ice skates I found when I was pregnant with my daughter. They were outside in the dumpster of our apartment complex. So what if I didn’t ice skate? I could learn! Or maybe my unborn child would long for a pair of vintage ice skates one day and, VOILA there they’d be. I kept them until she was old enough to skate but she was too mortified to wear them. Something about being old fashioned and out of style. Shrug.

Anyway, I’ve been working hard to reform my packrat ways. Really hard. The precious, wondrous, one-of-a-kind, irreplaceable things I’ve jettisoned these last couple of years would boggle your mind.

And that brings me back to my beautiful Breakfast at Tiffany’s style sunglasses.

A couple of years ago my fashion-savvy daughter pleaded with me to finally get rid of them. She said I really had to stop wearing them because they were terribly outdated and made me look like an old lady. I argued that I looked like a movie star. She said I’d always look like a star to her, but the sunglasses had to go.

Though full of angst, I proved my intention to reform by donating my bold, beautiful sunglasses to charity. I swear to God I almost cried. I couldn’t help it. Scenes from my life in those sunglasses started to flash before my eyes as I let them go. I had to do this because I’m trying to set a good example. You see, I’m afraid I’ve passed on the packrat gene to my daughter. She’s struggling to reform before she gets as bad as me. So, being a kind, loving and selfless mother, I made this grand sunglasses sacrifice to save my daughter from the possibility of living amidst a maze of stacked floor-to-ceiling newspapers one day when she’s old.

My sunglasses would have been at the absolute height of fashion right now. I’d be wearing them and looking ultra cool and movie-star-ish today if I hadn’t listened to my daughter. She and my husband say I should just go out to Target and buy a similar pair. But they don’t understand. Mine were the real deal. Vintage. Not some newcomer knockoff of the original. Mine had history!

Some lucky soul who scooped them up from the Goodwill where I donated them is walking around looking like a movie star today. That Goodwill shopper now has my coveted Daisy Golightly look.

And I don’t.

Did I mention these sunglasses are just exactly like the pair my daughter recently purchased for herself? Mmm-hmm. Yes she did.

See what happens when you get rid of things?

Well at least I still have the tiny treasure box with all my daughter’s pearly little baby teeth. One day she’ll be really happy I kept those. She’ll see . . .