While I have always leaned to the fuchsia end of the girly scale, I have never needed to prove it with things. Of course I think sparkly things are pretty and I can twirl like you would not believe, but these were passing fancies, not obsessions. I have also envisioned myself with a sapphire engagement ring since before the Royal jewels hit my radar. Which is why, when I tried on a diamond ring in the whisper quiet, velvet lined wing of my local Tiffany & Co. (just for the fun of it, you understand) I was completely unprepared for what it would feel like to slip 3 carats of grade D, VS1 clarity onto my left hand.
I have no boyfriend. No one was offering me this ring. Is putting jewelry on supposed to make you breathless? I seriously couldn’t breathe for a second. It fit perfectly. Even the security guard said “Wow, that looks really good on you”. I know he’s probably paid to say things like that, but I might have been glowing, and that room is really well lit, so it’s anyone’s guess. I can now see why women, when faced with a proposal from a boyfriend they’re not totally sold on, scream a resounding “Yes!”
I’m slightly afraid I’ve had some kind of premature bridal moment. But, I also kind of don’t care. It wasn’t even just any diamond, it was that ring, in all of its perfect, faceted, vivacity that called to my very soul. Ok, maybe that’s a bit overdramatic, but you get the idea.
Most men claim not to understand what the female fascination with jewelry is, yet still respect its powers of distraction, and healing minor emotional wounds. And now I know why the whole proposal process hinges on the selection and offering of a ring. They are designed to pull you into their circlet of commitment, and help you make that final leap from I love you, but being around you 24/7 seems extreme to ‘Til death? No problem.
And it works. Or, it will work. There is a reason it is a tradition. It has everything to do with glitter lust, and nothing to do with everlasting vows (at least, not at first). I can’t wait.