I was a very lucky girl who got a very lovely engagement ring. It's also very distinctive, but if a pictured didn't give me a way entirely I show you a photograph.
The process of buying a ring was strange, uncomfortable, fraught. Different expectations of cost, different stages of readiness. JB had no idea how much rings cost, and his initial reluctance left me feeling that my expectations were way over the top. Ouchy hurty heart, and embarrassed tears.
But we managed to get through it - JB realised some of his hesitation was to do with his in-between-jobs status (now thankfully remedied), and he wanted to make me happy. So with a slightly awkward heart we set off down the high street to find a ring.
What a ring we found. It's Art Deco, octagonal, and diamond. I never expected the diamond part, always assuming more of a modest sapphire or coloured gemstone. I'd feel terrible about confessing that anywhere else in my life, apart from these anonymous online pages, showing my materialistic side, that part of me that is judgemental, aspirational, conceited and proud. But there you go, I suppose we all have parts of our personality that we'd rather not show to the ones we love. I love my ring, and it was never a certainty that I would get something valuable - I grew up poor, and so perhaps I put more stock in valuable things than someone raised in a better off family might do.
But putting the mercenary details to one side, I keep finding myself utterly transfixed by the sparkles now permanently attached to my left hand. The design I find fascinating, and the glittering nature of real diamonds is blowing my tiny mind. This is mine. I get to have this.
The weight felt strange on my hand for weeks. It didn't look right in the store. The name fiancee felt heavy, awkward and uncomfortable. I couldn't believe it was all happening. But it did. JB loved the ring, which made me love it more, abad now with the bright clear diamond on my most symbolic finger I can't imagine myself with anything else. My finger is in the cast of a phalangeal Great Gatsby.
I'd never truly considered how symbolic an engagement ring was. Our love is something valuable, something special that you would never normally have. This relationship is the start of building your wealth with someone else - and I don't really mean that in the financial sense. My riches are easy dinners at home with the cats. My bank account is full with Sunday morning fucking and Friday evening cuddles. I'm dripping with the diamonds of kisses. And so is JB.
But I just get to wear the sparkling reminder on my finger.
No comments:
Post a Comment