At the prescribed time to place our
order for our wedding bands, we returned to Tiffany. The ritual sparkle gazing
and engagement ring cleaning took place, and we headed to the marital display.
A different representative was at the counter, and this was our conversation,
as I recall it. The specifics will become important later. I will change the
names, because it seems like I’m really telling you something important if I
do.
“Hi. We are here to order our
wedding bands. We had been dealing with someone, but we forgot her name and
don’t have her card with us.”
“What did she look like?” asked the
new agent of class, Ida B. Sneaky.
“She was a bit older than you,
shoulder-length brownish hair,” I said.
“Was it Lady Guinevere (look at the
unkempt rapscallions ogling the jewels) Highbrow?”
“Yes, that’s her. Is she here
today?” I inquired.
“I’m sorry. I believe she is at
lunch,” she said, glancing around and licking her fangs.
“Well, we really just need to place
the order for our wedding bands. So if you can help us with that, that would be
great.”
“Certainly, I can, sir.” A devilish
perkiness in her voice.
We found the rings we had picked
out before and got measured for size once more, to be safe. At this point, we
also chose to inscribe our wedding bands with the word “Lobster,” in a font
that truly symbolized our relationship and reflected well on the classiness of
the ring retailer. We also snagged three initial necklaces for the female
attendants, which seemed like a good deal, relative to all our other purchases,
as would be expected from items normally kept in the so-called “Commoner’s
Pavilion.”
However, Christa was concerned,
first, that certain initials were taller (I’d like to call it pendant envy, but
I’d be tricking myself into thinking I’m clever) and, second, that some letters
were prettier.
I can’t imagine one of them saying,
“Oh that b tops my k; I wish you were never born, you ugly
initial-necklace giver.” They are simpletons like us. Surely they will simply
relish having a Tiffany necklace, won’t they?
Who
would prefer a letter that wasn’t their initial, pretty or not? They’re not
changing their names for a piece of jewelry. Why do you think the b is so good anyway?
Interestingly enough, Christa
agreed to change her name under the influence of a piece of jewelry, so I may
need to rethink all of this crazy talk.
The next day, trouble struck again.
- Drew Lloyd
From "Will You?" to "I Do.": A Groom's Tale of Survival
- Drew Lloyd
From "Will You?" to "I Do.": A Groom's Tale of Survival
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