“I was thinking of using this diamond someday.”
He pulls out an old ring. The gold is unpolished, the metal a bit chinked. It’s a man’s ring. Probably belonged to someone with extremely big fingers.
My man looks at me. I’m sitting on the sofa in my underwear and a t-shirt. Ordinary day. Hot. 80 degrees. Windows are all open and an afternoon breeze is timidly trying to crawl in. He’s standing in his stripped skivvies.
“OH MY GOD!” My head is screaming. “No fuckin’ way!!!!!” Every girl-thought is barreling through my walnut sized brain. “Is this THE moment?!” “Is he asking THAT question?!” “I’m in my fucking underwear!?!?!” “Stay calm! Look non-chalant. Keep flipping through that Maxim magazine. Look up as if you’re completely surprised. Have you practiced your delighted face? Try now. ‘Oh my, this is wonderful!’ No no no…. try it again, ‘Oh my, you shouldn’t have!’ Wait, one more time, ‘Oh my, I am so undeserving of this!’” I try to look up from a cascade of thick eyelashes… which isn’t true. I have a thin smattering of random hairs that can constitute as eyelashes, but this is my innocent and sexy tart look.
“Oh, that’s a nice diamond,” I finally say. Whew! Good! I sounded completely natural! My voice didn’t crack. I didn’t -thank god!- emit a squeal of joy.
“Yeah.” He pauses.
I nervously go back to my Maxim magazine. Page flip.
“Yeah,” he repeats absentmindedly.
“Yeah,” he thoughtfully echoes himself,”I think this is a cool diamond. It belonged to my grandpa.”
My head is exploding: vintage! It’s a family heirloom! I’m being indoctrinated into his family! AHHHHHHHHHHHHH! (Calm the fuck down! Look bored.) I assume a Cleopatra pose on the sofa and pretend to stifle a yawn while stretching lazily like a cat. I look up thru my cascade of scraggly eyelashes, demurely.
He continues, “Yeah. It’s cool. I don’t know what to do with it, but it’s cool.” He looks down at it. He shrugs at me. And then he does an about face and skips back to the bedroom and I hear him rustling about in the office.
I wait. 5 seconds. 15 seconds. 30 seconds.
He’s coming back right? There’s some ceremony he’s planning right? He’s just pretending right? I wait. It’s excruciating. It’s like when your boyfriend leaves the room to find a condom and he takes too damn long and all you hear is rustling rustling rustling.
“Oh look!” he announces from the other room! I hear footsteps! Oh my god, he’s going to be dressed up! He’ll have something in his hand! He might have a four person a cappella boy band behind him singing Whitney Houston’s “How Will I Know?”!!! There’ll be a balloon drop! Friends breaking out into a flash mob dance! Maybe he’ll be dancing AND singing! I CAN’T WAIT ANY LONGER!
“Look!” He announces triumphantly. He stands in a Superman pose. “I found the perfect plaid shirt! It was at the Levi’s store. You like?”
“Um…” I fumble… “It looks great, hon.”
“Thanks!” he smiles and kisses me on the nose. “I knew you’d like it.” He turns, “let’s figure what we’re going to eat for lunch. I wanna hit the Fresh and Easy. They have pizza dough that’s a-maz-ing! Mmmm! Fresh pizza!!!!” He’s gone, getting dressed… for grocery shopping.
I’m a dork.