I love to talk.
I love to talk, and I love to tell people what I think.
With such an attribute comes some (very) well thought-out ideas concerning every-day life scenarios which I thoroughly enjoy sharing with people, willing or not.
Walk with me on this one...
Today is my twenty-first birthday. Ever so conveniently, my celebratory lunch spot happened to be located down the road from one of my favorite places to dream - Tiffany and Co. As I walked down the white-carpeted isles and gazed longingly as (what my mother calls) 'inspiration for a good job, or a good marriage in the future' I started to ponder on the concept of 'engagement.' I have previously confessed my love for pearls, but what about those who love diamonds? My lord, you can get diamonds in every shape, colour and cut imaginable. This is when I started to think. What happens if the supposed love of your life plops down on one knee and opens that little, itty, bitty box you have dreamt about since you were a little, itty, bitty girl and boom...
It is the most hideous thing you have ever seen in your life.
Who cares about love, marriage and children. You are going to have to carry that thing around on your hand for the rest of your life! I know I might sound some-what obnoxious, but is this not a legitimate worry? What happens if the ring which has been passed down for hundreds of years is a cluster of ugly surrounded by hideousness? Oh the worries of my life!
This is where my theory comes into play. If your so-called 'soulmate' thinks that you would actually adore a cluster of ugly surrounded by hideousness, honey, you need to think twice. It starts with the ring, then follows Christmas, Birthdays and Anniversaries. Before you know it, you will be swimming in tragic toe-socks, a matching mustard colored scarf, hat and glove set and a diamonte encrusted Iphone case inscribed with 'You Will Always Be My Baby-Boo.' Trust me, I am saving you from a lifetime of awkward smiles and teeth-clenched embarrassment.
Okay, so I might be going to a bit of an extreme here (and ooze a wee bit of cynicism.) I mean, it is the thought that counts. Surely, if you love your man enough, the ring is a small sacrifice to pay for a lifetime of happiness. This is what we have jewelry catalogues and fridge magnets for, yes?
See, this is what happens when you start growing up. This is what turning twenty-one has done to me! Maybe it was the constant exposure of Valentines Day goodies or the sudden realization that such worries are going to start hitting me once I find the man of my dreams at a much, much later stage of my twenties (don't worry Mom and Dad.) Legitimate or not, I think I am on to something. All I am saying is that marriage is not a decision made on a whim, and by no circumstance should the choice of a ring, or any jewelry item, be on that matter!
Sometimes you just need to vent to avoid the nightmares. Until that moment comes, rest assured, I shall go back to worrying about fake-tan dramas and how I am planning on making my first million - the worries a normal twenty-one year old should have!
On another note, edging away from my previous rant - today is my birthday! I have had such an amazing day. Mumma J and I took our annual celebratory train ride out to London where we indulged in champagne, Nobu sushi, Fortnum and Mason and Carnaby Street boutiques. Capped off with a pink cake covered in glitter sugar and a gorgeous bundle of goodies - to say I was spoiled rotten is an understatement! Thank-you ever so much to all those who shared their birthday wishes :-)