“Oh, hmm… is that diamond on the floor over there? I think I lost it.”
This past weekend, The Boy and I went shopping for engagement rings.
Going to the store, I was nervous. I’m not a big fan of having direct attention on me, so the idea that I would have people waiting for me to pick and choose and such makes me nervous. So, needless to say, I was feelin’ a little odd from the get-go.
In any case, we get in there and an aged, long-term smoker began showing us case after case of engagement ring options. Yikes! She mentioned that they had a new line of rings from _____ (enter well know jewelry maker for movie stars). I stared at the woman vaguely. We then moved on.
In time, I found a ring band that I truly loved. Swoopy, elegant and unique. Well, as unique as a ring from a jewelry store gets. And then she starts tossing around diamonds. She is very casual with them all, whereas I have the ring on my finger and am trying not to move too much. My hand was shaking. We try diamonds. The Boy and I stare at charts of colors, depth and other various lettered things. We pretend to understand.
At one point, she takes the diamond off the ring and ‘whoops’, diamond is gone. We search everywhere. They have employees searching by us, our jeweler is dipping and bending trying to find the lost rock. But still nothing.
The employees start to look at us. We keep looking at everything else. I’m keeping my hand, with the ring still on it, near the counter so no one suspects anything else. Employees disappear to back rooms. I figured we were soon to be dragged to the back. When, voila! The woman finds the diamond in the front of the container. Apparently it popped in there without her knowing. And The Boy and I got to walk away with all our fingers intact.
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