As the champers flowed, laughs got louder and day got warmer/ colder, recent christmas festivities were enjoyed by many generations of people surrounded by our loved ones.
To much of grandma’s delight, this meant that some of us were putting our phones down and actually engaging with the fam, at least to devour some turkey.
Luckily, the breaks between meals (formerly used for siestas) provided a window for a quick scroll through the thousands of selfie stick captures (mine included) many of which featured awkward uncles and dorky jumpers (so wild!).
Having spent less time in cyber space, my toilet entertainment also involved a flood of #heputaringonit & #taken announcements.
Apparently it was also the season for knee bending – celebrated of course with a perfectly filtered and framed close up of #THERING!!!!!!!!!
Now to be honest, my childhood dreams rarely featured a virgin-white dress and sexy stallion, the idea of prancing down a church aisle to shit- sounding organs seemed as appealing as homework and Brussel sprouts.
I don’t reject the idea of marriage- committing myself to some one I love and having the same promised to me #4eva is a thought I’ve entertained on occasion (I do love love after all).
I just think that the blissful event can be blown out of control, particularly when thousands of dollars are wasted on feeding hated relatives.
Much to my mothers disgust, there’s something else that also seems irrelevant to me. Actually to be honest, it really does my head in. And that is: ring talk.
If i was to psycho- anaylze myself- I would probably reference my time spent working in retail in a rather affluent suburb as the initial cause of my frustrations.
While the witnessing of old men taking their old wrinkly wife shopping one day, and their young model the next was sickening in itself, it was the mini mountains that encased the long bronzed perfectly manicured fingers of many customers and the convos shared between customers themselves and with my colleagues, which lead to many toilet breaks.
“He must really love you!”
“You’re a lucky girl”
“Is that a __ (insert exclusive Italian jewler name here) ?”
” 7 or 10 carrats? ”
[WITHOUT A HELLO, HOW ARE YOU?]
… you get the gist.
Now, I know that many reading will be thinking “you’ve never been engaged/ married so who are you to judge?” #jelly #hatersgonhate etc etc. And rightly so!
To be fair though, I do have an appreciation for beautiful jewellery including diamonds, even if they aren’t my best friend. I can also understand the significance of wedding bands, as well as the buzz of emotion that love and commitment brings (and therefore need to share it virtually).
I just don’t think the size and quality of a rock has ANYTHING to do with the union it symbolises. More so, a massive rock aint no band-aid for a shitty relationship either (ask the shrinks).
However, many people seem to think so, and of course, the media don’t help.
A few Fridays before santa came to town I was sipping on some yummy vino at Friday dranks in the city. I was sat next to a friend of a friend who had tagged along, providing much entertainment as she gushed about her past and present (3 month) relationships, and the exact details of the ring her boi knows she wants.
“Bless her”, I thought.
That was until she had another glass and starting digging into a colleague she felt had betrayed her, by the way she had portrayed her marital bliss and the amazing ring that symbolised it.
You see, the girl had been lead to expect a solid rock, and was left speech less when the colleague returned from her honey moon.
“It’s a piece of shit! so small! why would she say it was nice?” the bitch then proceeded to laugh for too long.
Sadly, such thoughts and comments infect the feeds of loved up instagrammers, particularly those with a famous profile.
While I was getting my nails done in the local Vietnamese parlour today, the usual silence of the place was contrasted by the up roar of opinions provided by staff and clients in response to Jesinta Campbell’s new bling in a clients magazine. I bit my tongue heavily as the private relationship AND RING was scrutinised.
So… I guess it is everywhere. Thanks to the naughty Daily Mail columns, many of us have been programmed to pay unhealthy attention to women’s boobs, arses and guts, and to measure their value by their bling bling.
I’ve said it before and I will say it again. This is fucked up and needs to change.
One’s marital status, and the presence/ state of their ring has nothing to do with their value as a human being.
Maybe I will marry a jeweller in a Catholic church and regret every word of this, but until then I will continue to avoid every ring- focused convo.
Happy New Years!