Last Saturday I went to the jeweler to change a diamond ring which was scratchy and uncomfortable. Bit of a twisted story behind this one: essentially, Husband bought me a ring and I snucked back to the shop to exchange it but then decided that I preferred Andrew’s original choice so went to swap it back again. This is four years later mind you, but I’ve known Kieren for a while and he is used to my whimsy.
Anyway, we were standing in the shop and a woman and her husband were in the process of buying a 5 carat diamond ring. The woman was torn between two choices; one a baguette cut shiner and the other an emerald cut monstrosity. Since her husband appeared to be present in a purely purchasory capacity, she turned to me and asked which one I preferred.
I didn’t think anyone would thank me for pointing out that both rings were ostentatiously foul with roughly the same aesthetic qualities as a chunk of rubble mounted on a Pepsi ring-pull. The emerald cut ring was a frankly criminal waste of £33000 apart perhaps from its potential as a deadly weapon. So I picked the one I loathed least of the two.
“That one,” I said pointing to the baguette.
Well, either she didn’t believe me or she simply wanted everyone else in the shop to appreciate how moneyed up they were, because she quizzed all the women for their opinion, ending up with equal baguette and emerald votes.
She finally consulted her silent partner: “Which one do you like?”
“The cheapest one!”
Then Kieren upped the stakes by producing a 5-carat princess cut diamond, which sat about three inches off her hand and should have come with a safety notice: “Protective eyewear should be worn when looking directly at the stone’. She repeated the poll. Unfortunately, since there were six women present, she ended up with two votes for each ring.
She finally opted for the throbbing princess cut diamond because it was the most expensive. And she’s got her hand extended and is turning it this way and that, and you keep expecting an armadillo to crawl out from under it – you can barely make out her fingers beneath the boulder. And she’s going:
“Hmm. Do you think maybe it needs a couple of emeralds on either side?”
And I’m thinking: WHERE?
And then I’m thinking: Babycakes, you may have the dosh, but there’s no buying taste