Here Come The Sunglasses

I never go anywhere without my sunglasses.

Shortly after my tragic sandal mishap and delightful deli lunch with the one and only JP, I proceeded across the street to Eye-Yai-Yai, the pricey optical boutique where my mishpocha shells out cash like it's growing out of our tushies. My mission: the fixing of my bent sunglasses. It went something like this:
"Hi, Ray, can you fix these please?"
"You didn't buy them here."
"No, but you turned them into sunglasses."
"After the cataract surgery?"
"I'm so touched you remembered."
"First, I must tell you, if the frames break, I'm not responsible."
"Who is?"
"Not me."
"Fair enough."
"So, what happened to them?"
"I don't know. All I did was take them out, put them on, take them off and put them back."
"You stepped on them."
"No, I didn't."
"You stepped on them."
"I didn't."

Really?

"You sat on them."
"Ray, do I look like someone who'd sit on her sunglasses?"
"You slept on them."
"Slept on my sunglasses?"
"You did something very bad to them."
"Are you going to fix them?"
"I hope I can. But if they break --"
"Got it."

This is a nice look for me. 

"Here they are, good as new."
"Thanks. You've done a real mitzvah."
"Before you go, can I tell you about a wonderful deal we're having?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"You buy a new pair, you get the other one for free."
"Define free."
"They have to be transitional lenses, and you have to buy by Saturday."
"I'll think about it."
"I'll see you tomorrow then."
"Maybe."
"In the meantime, try not to sit on your sunglasses."
"Oy vey, Ray."
"We're open till 6."