Something Borrowed, Something Blue

The chick that sits behind me got the rock. You know what I’m talking about- that glimmery, shimmery, rock cradled by a claw of white gold, suspended on the fourth finger to the right on your left hand. The finger destined to hold *the* ring- hence, ring finger.

I’ve heard snippets of the same story all morning: a dinner of lobster and pricey wine, a walk along the water on a cool night where they had to nuzzle to stay warm, the prince charming one-kneed proposal and a small robin’s egg blue box.


I haven’t spilled the details of my romantic life with as much gusto as this chick since …well, never. I don’t want you to know what cologne my boyfriend wears. I don’t want to know where you frequent for dinner, nor do I want you to have a good chance of guessing where I am on Saturday night. This chick gets her holy grail around her finger and she’s singing her story like the gospel.

I’m not the church-going type, but I’m helping choose between the amethyst halter top dresses and the sweetheart top yellow ones. Are we going with orchids??

If my boyfriend all of sudden gets a haircut, takes me to restaurant he can’t pronounce, and suggests we walk along the river, I’m jumping and swimming to safety. This person is obviously not for me. Pulling over on I-95 on our way to nowhere sounds preferable or pretending I’m Jodie Foster and taking a shot at the president. Now that’s romance. (Although I think the one-knee thing is kinda sweet. And while we’re on tradition, I would hope he ask my dad’s permission, not because he has to, but to insure that my dad/brother/grandfather don’t purchase a handgun.)

And I’m not a bitter, sarcastic person. Deep down I’m a sort of unconventional hopeless romantic- the one who’s more swooned by a small yellow flower hidden in a glasses case than a full bouquet of red roses sent to my work. Girls are expensive and needy, but I can appreciate a DIY dude. With a limited budget, an intro arts and crafts class and a rhyming dictionary, you too can impress any lady with homemade presents. And it works, I swear.

Supposedly, the diamond ring thing is a DeBeers conspiracy to make a ton o’ money, and James Bond and Beyonce were paid to endorse “Diamonds are a girl’s best friend.” Trust me; diamonds are not my best friend. My best friend cost a helluva lot less.

Besides, what the fuck am I going to do with a 4K investment on my hand?? Probably lose it.

I would hope my future husband finds a better way to spend a month’s salary (if he has a salary). There are a bajillion other things I would rather share: a vacation, a fireplace, a couple wells in sub-Sahara Africa, an awesome telescope, whatever.

Although, I am looking forward to the upcoming weeks of bridesmaid dresses, flower selection, veils, menu packages, venues, rings, family seating, centerpieces, music playlist, vows, invitations, manicures, in-laws, rehearsal dinners... As someone who has had a hand in the planning of several weddings, I will tell you that this chick’s work productivity is going to plummet, along with those in the general vicinity.

Personally, I’m down with daisies. Ties and jackets (and shoes) optional. No presents. Certainly no sweetheart tops.

P.S. How do you think your children will feel if you tell them your wedding song was by Death Cab for Cutie?... or Public Enemy?

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