One thing I’m learning fast about Michigan is that it is full of lakes. And I’m not talking about the big ones, like Lake Michigan or Lake Huron.

In West Bloomfield alone – that’s my new hometown – 12 percent of the entire township of 31 square miles is water. From my own experiences, while driving around and getting my bearings accompanied by my new best friend – my GARMIN GPS system – most roads ride alongside a body of blue.

Now, most of these lakes in my new home town are private – meaning, any long-lasting view of a lake is obscured by these incredibly huge lakefront mansions. So when the common folk like me want to see a lake, we go to a public park, one of many in Michigan’s vast park system.

(Don’t worry, people, I’m getting to the eyeglasses part).

This weekend, only our second in town, we ventured to Proud Lake, a state park with hiking, canoeing, and swimming.

We came to this lovely swimming hole along the Huron River.  Others who kayaked and canoed stopped here to take a break and swim. Teens and tweens frolicked in the gentle current.

We were having a great time until….

A woman in her late forties in a fuchsia printed bathing suit drinking out of a metal Coors canister on a dock, in spite of the “alcoholic beverages prohibited” sign, summoned me.

“Excuse me… can you get…”

And here I am thinking she was pointing to the teen in the leopard bathing suit behind me, thinking it was her daughter.

“Oh sure,” I willingly replied, tapping the girl on the shoulder.

But it wasn’t the teen she wanted. She wanted my husband.

This was getting interesting. i told you it was getting interesting.

“Hey, I may come off as very bold

or very drunk

but I have to tell you, those sunglasses have to go. And I mean this in the kindest way. But there are all sorts of new eyewear technology, I mean, there are transition lenses, and magnetic sunglasses that snap on to your lenses…. but those sunglasses – what are they COCOONS?? They are really ridiculous and geeky, sorry just sayin’ as I work in sales for an eyeglasses store in Ann Arbor.”

Now, I’m standing there; chest deep in the Huron River, just taking this all in. A woman, who we never met before, who knows us from – NOWHERE –  is sipping a beer insulting my husband’s choice in sunglasses.

The inner Staten Island girl in me would immediately retort:

“Yo BITCH! Who the FUCK do you think you are disrespecting my MAN and his dorky sunglasses? Step off that dock I’ll drag your ass under!”

But that was never me. But many an Island girl would have spoken like that, really.

I did say to her “Gee, WOW! you do have a lot of nerve, and yes, maybe his glasses are dorky but he is a GOOD man!”

I did, and I can’t believe I did, stand there in the water and make chit-chat with her for about 10 more minutes before I swam away, to learn that she was just this dumb, racist white trash woman who in no way reflected most of the good people I am so far meeting in Michigan.

In the end, I did deep down inside agree that those sunglasses are a bit dorky. But what’s it to her? The man behind those sunglasses is the man I love.

In the end, I later apologized to my husband for not rightly defending his honor and his right to wear dorky sunglasses.

In the end, eyeglass saleswoman on the shore had her canister of Coors taken away from her by an interceding park ranger.

In the end, I came away with a funny blog post to share with you.