This weekend I was at a BBQ, the kind of scene where all the guests are seated around a patio secretly wondering, “Isn’t there somewhere better I should be?” Anyway, I arrived later than most (O.K., dead last, by several hours -- punctuality was never a virtue) and the male/female ratio was roughly 70/30. Things are looking good. The men are in some heated discussion about college football, so much so that they barely grunt in my fashionably late direction. Unable to make the grand entrance I was hoping for, I saunter over to the women's enclave and see a friend who has recently gotten engaged. I congratulate her on her future nuptials, and before I have a chance to get another word out, all the other girls start chanting, "Show her your ring, show her your ring." So I feign excitement (“It's beautiful, gorgeous, SO different from every other cookie-cutter wedding ring that looks identical to it”) while squirming inside. I am now a part of a squealing, clichéd, every-guy's-worst-nightmare group of girls. There is no way to back out of this, to separate myself from the Koo Karats Klan, so I endure the high-pitched oohs and aahs, and I seethe silently. For a while after, the ritual scene of 'seeing the ring' plays on loop in my head. And the longer it loops, more frustrated I become. When was the last time you saw a unique engagement ring? One so extraordinary you gushed for 10 minutes? In my dealings, 99% of the rings out there look exactly like your best friends', your cousins', your sisters', your sisters-in-law’s, and all of your sistas'. And yet, it's the first thing we are supposed to be asked about..."Wow, it’s gorgeous! I've never seen anything, oh wait..."
© MMIII, Yankee Pot Roast Amalgamated