I love my ring. I really do.
I’ve never been much of a jewelry girl, really. I usually have one pair of earrings (gold hoops) that I wear regularly. Before the engagement, the last ring I wore was my sorority pin that I had turned into a ring after graduating from college…and it’s been years since I wore that. I keep a few cheap, funky necklaces and earrings on hand for when I dress up all fancy…and that’s about it.
Ever since the first time the idea of a diamond actually crossed my mind, I began casually observing rings–both on the fingers of women I knew and in jewelry stores. I’ve never been a fan of the high prong settings that seem to jump off the finger. I’ve also never been one for the ginormous stone. I’m all about the modest. The tasteful. When I went looking for a ring, I wasn’t exactly sure what I wanted, but I was quite sure about what I didn’t want. I was also quite sure about what I didn’t care about. If anyone tried talking to me about the “four Cs,” my eyes glazed over in a matter of seconds. Just. Don’t. Care.
A couple of years ago, I was getting my haircut, and I overheard one of the stylists talking about her friend’s engagement ring…it was four carats, or something obscene like that…saying that when she got engaged, her ring had better be at least that big.
And I thought to myself, “Hm. There really are women like that in the world.”
Shortly after my engagement, Jen sent me a link to the site true bride confessions. I spent too much time there, reading the posts, being alternately amused and horrified. Here’s an example of a post in the “horrified” column:
“I was so disappointed when I saw the ring when my fiancee proposed.
I know it’s so shallow and selfish, but I wanted a ring that would compare to my friends and co-workers. I was embarassed to show mine to anyone, because it’s a little small in comparison.
I never said a word to him, and acted thrilled, but I was so let down.
As a woman, I know how other women think. A big ring means he really loves you a lot, and is willing to go into debt in girl language.“
Again, with the “OMG, there really are women like this in the world.”
So let me get this straight…Debt=Love? That is one seriously messed up worldview. I mean really…doesn’t getting married mean that his debt becomes YOUR debt?
Anyway. For me, when it came right down to it, it wasn’t the ring that mattered at all. It was what the ring symbolized. I wanted something beautiful. I wanted something that looked like it belonged on my finger. And when I walked into that vintage jewelry shop and saw this ring, I knew. I was so sad when I thought it was gone. (And truthfully, even if it had been, I would have gotten over it…it was never the ring that *really* mattered.)
Maybe out there in that “girl world” in which I cheerfully refuse to participate, people are judging me for not having a rock the size of my head.
*shrug*
I don’t care. Rand could have given me a plastic ring from a gumball machine and I would have been equally as thrilled.
Maybe diamonds are some girls’ best friends…just not mine.
