Weddingbee Blog

We had an epic fail trying to buy our rings in Stratford-upon-Avon. It really is too bad because we were looking forward to having that specialness (totally a word) about them. C’est la vie. It goes to show you never can tell. The reason? Platinum rings were really expensive without the pounds-to-dollars conversion. I also couldn’t find anything I enjoyed. I had a backup ring already picked out at the store where he purchased the e-ring, so I wasn’t too brokenhearted.

We went to the store, and I handed the very nice salesman the business card with information regarding the ring I’d already picked out. This is yet another task that quickly became overwhelming. These jewelers, man, they can make a million. different. eternity bands. It’s quite amazing if you think about how many ways they can bend a single concept. Of course I no longer enjoyed the band that I’d picked out previously. So I had about 15 trays of rings in front of me—so many that it got to the point that my ring finger began to get raw and all hurty-like from trying them on.

Zeb? He had this covered. He already knew what he wanted, down to the comfort level. Oh yeah, they have “comfort” bands. He ended up picking out his and mine.

Yeah she will.

Now I do have to make this aside because I think it’s awful cute. Someone told Zeb that wearing a wedding ring makes you a target for women. They loooove married men. He thinks this is great because he knows how Samantha-Jones frustrated I get because my ring is like the plague to men. (Relax, buddy. I just asked if this seat was taken!) He gets an excited glint in his eye every time he mentions his sexy-lady-target wedding band.

Anywho, I had my two (uh huh, yeah!) bands all picked out, and Zeb had his palladium* band in the works when the salesman asked if he could clean my ring. I got all Marcy D’arcy at the dentist again and was like “hells yeah, you can clean me up real nice.” So I peeled my ring off my raw finger and handed it on over. When he brought it back, I admired the sparkly for a minute and slipped—what the heckleberries?! It didn’t fit! So I looked at the guy and asked him if this was my ring. It looked like my ring, but certainly didn’t fit like my ring.

I know what you’re thinking! I do! Listen, I’ve done the brunette before. I know attitudes change toward people along with their hair color. I get it. But I’m. not. crazy. This wasn’t my ring! I started to get all panicky because my choices were either fight this apparent blonde moment and lose—A Very Embarrassing Lose—or walk out thinking I’m losing my mind. That’s it! The sparkle had finally lasered through my brain. Bedazzle me a nice straight jacket and bring me to the padded room. Option three—the “I’m right, bitches” option—never even crossed my mind. Zeb and I took different cars, and about a mile down the road I called him. He reassured me that my finger was just swollen.

But, but(!) the setting was lower, and the diamond was a quarter of a carat bigger, and the ring was rounder, and…

Just swollen, Zeeb.

OK, see you at home, love you (ass), bye! (Panic, panic, panic—I can’t get it off now. SUGAR COOKIES!)

Then a wonderful, most welcome miracle occured. The phone rang. I recognized the area code immediately because I work nearby. REDEMPTION!

The other girl in the store picking out her band realized that she was given the wrong ring and almost cried because that crazy lady just drove down the road with her ring. Luckily, all’s well that ends well. I drove back, exchanged rings, had a laugh, and all was right in the world. Whew!

Would you have recognized the difference? Of course you would have! It’s your ring. Does this kind of stuff happen to you guys all the time? It’s not just me…right?

*Palladium is this fantastic new (?) metal that looks like platinum, acts like platinum, but it is fantastically cheaper. It also wears a whole lot better than platinum.