In general, I make a pretty bad tomboy. I'm a little squeamish about a lot of things (bugs, mice, sludge), and there are a lot of girly things that I really do like (you all already know I'm a total spa/cosmetic whore).
But I just don't get the diamond thing.
Seemingly normal women turn all gushy and strange when it comes to their diamond engagement rings. (I'm soooo going to get in trouble for this blog). Honestly: I like bling and beauty and love and a good cry and schmoopiness as much as the next person. But what is it about diamonds that makes completely sane women start gesticulating wildly with their (left) hands and then constantly straighten their arms out in front of them, hands back, cocking their heads to one side as if they were checking a manicure, moving that blasted stone back and forth to catch the glints in the sunlight/spotlight/bar light/barely-there-light in the back of the cab?
I mean, maybe I, too, would become a huge diamond-lover if I were given a pretty ring. It could happen (as one friend said recently, after becoming engaged and getting an arguably gorgeous ring: "Who KNEW I liked diamonds so much???!"). But I just can't see it, really. I think I'd rather have an old heirloom ring or simple band or, let's be honest, a bang-up trip to Italy.
Fortunately, I avoid the atrocities committed in the name of diamond sourcing by staying resolutely single and consistently broke. Let's just call it me doing my little part for the planet.
-Heather... off to wait for the fallout from angry engaged girlfriends...
Posted by: SB_Gypsy | November 21, 2005 at 08:07 AM