We’re looking for a new engagement ring. As much as we loved the company who made it, and their values, and the ring itself– we had many problems with it. After only two months, the emerald came loose; we sent it back and they re-set it. Two weeks later, it was loose again. They redesigned the setting, and sent back a new ring. Finally, the third ring broke– the prong that held the emerald in place sheared away from the shank.
The company was of course apologetic and totally ready to fix it again. But in the last eleven months since we’ve been engaged, it’s been in the shop for two. As I told the company: “I just can’t get a fourth ring from you, open it up, put it for a fourth time, and not worry that it will last until our wedding.”
They felt bad, we feel bad, and they are sending us a refund. Which means: I have no engagement ring. I’m currently scouring online antique stores– we would love to “reuse” an older ring. Old rings are so romantic, and when I see them on trays in antique stores, I always feel sad that they aren’t being worn daily and loved. An older ring would also go along with our green impulses.
For a morning, I thought I had the problem solved– when I was in high school, my parents gave me a beautiful topaz ring with a fairly large light blue stone. I thought, “Ooh– we could get an antique mounting and re-set my old topaz in it; that would be lovely.” I went looking for the ring all in my vanity drawers. Finally, I remembered: the ring was stolen in a burglary when I was living in St. Louis. The burglars also took my grandmother’s engagement ring– that was the major loss, and it still makes me feel bad.
For the time being, my left hand feels especially bare.