one big fairy tale

Nothing I wear fits. My bras are the wrong size. My underwear sags. The waistbands of my jeans hang around my hips like hula hoops. Even my beautiful new coat, which makes me look like le petit prince, only better, is several inches too long.

Then there's this ring. It's the ring Mr. Ben bought me for Engagement, Take Two, and now that the awesome jewelry store from which he obtained it has resized it for free, I can finally wear it. It's not too loose, not too tight.

In the six months of ring-less engagement, I fielded lots of questions about why I wasn't wearing anything and spent a decent amount of time thinking about whether I wanted one. For sure I didn't want a diamond. Nothing that flashy & problematic belongs on my hand. Nor did I think I wanted to deal with gold. I didn't want to be high-maintainance; I don't want to show anything off or be tagged as someone's property. In short, if I wanted anything at all, I didn't know what. It was all too loaded with symbolism.

Except I liked the idea of being able to look down and be reminded, This is happening. This is good. This is what we want.

Last night I dreamt that someone, possibly one of the twins from America's Next Top Model, told me to turn the ring over. Sure enough, the back of the band had a box of Nutrition Information, and it listed the ingredients: tin and glass.

In actuality, the ring contains neither. It's vintage, and it looks like a crown. My hand has a crown! Weird! I haven't worn it outside of the apartment yet. Maybe tomorrow I'll feel brave.