About the same time Bridie and I were too poor to afford cable but always had enough money for wine and magazines, De Beers started a campaign for diamond rings women were encouraged to buy themselves. They called them right-handed rings and the slogan for the campaign was "Women of the World, Raise Your Right Hand."
Bridie and I hated this campaign. And as we do with all things we think are stupid, we mocked it mercilessly and turned it into a series of dirty jokes.
Fast forward 13 years.
As you know, the universe reminded me just how much it loves me a few weeks ago when I lost the back to one of my mom's diamond earrings. So, while I was home, I stopped at my mother's jeweler to have the back replaced. While the jeweler looked for another screw back, I browsed the estate jewelry cases.
I didn't expect to find anything I had to have.
I certainly didn't expect to find a diamond ring.
I was just killing time.
Oh, but what is that?
Well, I suppose it couldn't hurt to take a closer look.
Or ask about the price.
Or ask if it could be sized up to fit my crazy large Russian hands.
As the jeweler measured my right-hand ring finger the memories of those ads and those jokes came bubbling back with a wave of nausea. I was about to rock the world and surprise myself and declare I love me more (err, too?).
I was about to buy myself a diamond ring.
A diamond ring I was having sized for my right-hand ring finger.
Somewhere, my 22-year-old self was shaking her head.
I suppose I could wear it on my left hand, taking my single for life declaration to the logical next step and letting the world know that I am off the market. But does that reek of a bad Lifetime movie? Worse than that, (yes, there is something worse than one's life emulating bad television for women) would be fielding all the questions from friends and co-workers.
So, that leaves just me selling out my younger, badass self?
But don't worry, she's not going down without a fight.