I thought I'd try to wrap this long story up today as any readers out there were probably wondering "why the build up for the obvious ring-on-finger ending?"
Well, life is really never so simple. And despite the fact that Marc likes to tell people how nice I am, I think he really means naive. Sure I mean no harm, but I am a bad, irresponsible, messy, been told my whole life to get organized person. Family and friends, ready to scream "I told you so!!"???. Well, here's your chance, I'm coming clean:
I lost it.
But wait. Didn't you mention somewhere that the diamond was your grandmom's?
Is there any kind of happiness to his ending? And I mean, you MUST have an explaination!!?!
I SUUUUURE do! Remember my mention of hives developing from my promise ring? They came back. I thought it was from a combo of weight gain and over zealous hand washing from my food service jobs. It wasn't. It was the mix-ins in the metal. We didn't spring for platinum when we got the diamond re-set because we weren't sure it was an allergy and didn't fully suspect since it had come out of nowhere. The setting we chose also didn't actually come in platinum. The jeweler would have to plate it in platinum and it would be costly and not permanent. It was also too big, because per my suspicions that the other ring was too tight and thusly itchy, I ignored advice to quarter-size it down to prevent ring-swing action from the weighty diamond on top.
Given all the resulting annoyances - terrible white-gold induced hives, and (when I painted it with nail polish as a protective layer) ring swing when typing in my always too cold office- I took the little two-toned, filigree, pave, grandmom's 1-carat beauty OFF a lot. Big fail.
Where is it? I dunno. Down the drain at the laundromat? (They took things apart to look for us for a couple weeks to no avail), stolen? ::gasp!:: at work? (I like to doubt this one very much, my mother prefers this explanation because it makes me a victim).
But, despite the fact that I never took pretty pictures of it. Despite the fact that it lives only in our memories. Despite the fact that it was a family heirloom, it's okay. It was insured. It's "just a thing" saintly people in my life who have been through this like to tell me.
What did I get to replace it? And what makes this story special???? Hang in for one more installment, coming right up!