If you like it then you should have put a ring on it.

A couple of weeks ago I was shopping with my boyfriend. We weren’t really shopping as much as trying to avoid family during the holiday season. As we walked by a jewelry store, he asked “Do you want to go in?” What girl doesn’t want to go in? I mean, really, it’s jewelry.

We’ve talked about marriage extensively and I knew he was interested in looking at engagements rings, not tennis bracelets. My first thought was “I need a drink” and the next thought was “Oh my God, we are in a mall. Am I really shopping for an engagement ring in a mall?” My mind began racing with images of me driving a caravan and taking jello casseroles to potluck dinners with five kids in tow.

“Just to give us an idea” he added.

I smiled. “Okay.”

As we peered into the cases I quickly identified a few rings that I wanted to try on. Then mania struck. Next thing I knew, I had shed my coat, left my purse on the floor and was trying on rings with a fury. We had two people helping us and in twenty minutes I had tried on every ring in the store. After an hour or so I had narrowed it down to three, two actually, but Debra, a saleswoman was really pushing this ring that had three identical sized, princess-cut diamonds. I kept telling her that it looked strange because the middle stone needed to be bigger, but she wasn’t having it. We were going home with that ring if she had anything to say about it – AND she and her husband were having dinner at Red Lobster that evening. “I just love those cheese biscuits!” She kept saying.

Ring number one was a beautiful estate ring. I was sure, before walking into the store that this was the ring I wanted. I felt like the center stone needed to be a tiny bit bigger, but it was gorgeous. Platinum setting, princess- cut center stone, surrounded by little diamonds, even on the band. Soooo pretty.

Ring number two. Hello beautiful. It was gorgeous – simple yet elegant. It had a platinum band with a perfectly clear two carat diamond on top. “I feel like I can’t go any smaller than this because my fingers are short and stubby.” I told him. (I actually had an ex boyfriend call them chubby little baby hands. Very upsetting.)

I laughed at myself, acknowledging how ridiculous that must have sounded to the sales associates. I remembered that commercial where the couple is shopping for a television and the man tells his fiancée “I bet later, we’ll wish we’d gone bigger.” Next, they are at the jewelry counter and she delivers the same response.

My patient boyfriend smiled. “Do you like the ring? Quality, size, setting, everything?” he asked.

I gave him a big smile and nodded, leaning into him. “I agree,” he said.