I look down at the ring finger of my right hand and I get a little panicked, a little queasy. I bought a ring. A version of this ring, actually. Mine’s not quite the same, they’re one-of-a-kind pieces, but you get the idea. A three-carat rustic diamond; I’ve never spent this kind of money on an object that wasn’t attached to a foundation or didn’t have wheels. Okay, Phoren, breathe.
I got caught up in the moment, with the salesperson telling me to wear it out of the store to “try it out” (brilliant move) and my sisters oh-ing and ah-ing, I just plunked down my credit card, as if I do this every week. What happened to sensible Phoren who would walk out of the store and only come back if it called to me? I didn’t give it time to call – shit, I didn’t even give it time to miss me. It’s not remorse I’m feeling, per se, just the feeling of “holy fuck, what did I just do?”
Last night, I smudged it with white sage to remove my inner-voice’s disapproval. I bought nail polish to match it. It looks good on my finger. I like the playful, Gustav Klimt feel of the setting. It fits me…it fits my personality. I just need to get used to it.
I want to see the actual ring now Phoren…and on your hand…..photo it…..photo it. (yes…I am chanting that to make you do it lol)
By the way .. .Happy New Year’s to you.
Sometimes you have to splurge and just say “Fuck it! I like it and I’m going to buy it. Damn the torpedoes”.
I did the same thing over snow tires this year. hee hee!
That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while. Where the heck have YOU been, mister?
I’ve been incognito … and when I sleep … just cognito.
Still in Japan?
I’m still in Japan … I mean I haven’t moved. hee hee!