Wading in the Velvet Sea

I have watched a steady stream of friends, near and not so near, getting engaged and married over the course of the last two years, and while the first few were always coupled with the hushed whispers of ‘Dude, Ted was puking in bushes last weekend, is he ready for this?’ or girls emailing each other, ‘Do you think Lucy knew that Ted was puking in bushes last week when she said ‘yes’?’ I have as many friends who are currently in relationships that they themselves see as potentially lasting until one of them kicks the bucket, or me as casual observer noting, ‘Yea, this really isn’t gonna end anytime this decade, is it?’

There’s a unique aspect to the comfort level established in all of this---while people are not taking such prospects likely, they are no longer causing the ‘Wait, Should We Really Be Thinking About This’ alarms that would go off in the college and post-college years. Instead, however, another trend has been developing. I’ve watched the very fabric of feminism torn asunder by a simple band and stone.

I’ve seen countless proponents of feminism pitching a fit over floral arrangements. I’ve seen girls from Women’s Studies classes spending ungodly amounts of coin on their wedding days. As detailed before, men by and large don’t care about the minutiae, largely because it was phased out of our basic genetic structure a few millennia ago. But I’ve seen the most hardcore Gloria Steinem wanna-bes reduced to the worst romantic comedy stereotypes possible, and it all starts when the engagement ring is slipped on that finger. Between the enormous costs these rings often incur, coupled with activity we as men can’t possible comprehend on the best of days, engagement rings are the most concrete reason feminism isn’t law in this country.

Now, hear me out for a bit. Don’t get all riled up. As per usual, I’m not trying to make a serious social commentary, because let’s face it, I’ve been accused of many things in my lifetime, and ‘well informed’ has never been one of them. But bear witness. Jenny, God bless her heart, considers herself to be a feminist. She like, showers and such, but is still a feminist. Now, about a year ago, we were both in Chicago, me visiting between Christmas and New Year’s. We were having a very good time, and she, in our blissful state, took advantage of it and casually suggested we go into Tiffany’s, since hey, we were walking by it, and wouldn’t it be fun? I missed the chapter in the ‘Dating Book’ which clearly states:

‘For the love of Doug Christie do NOT go into Tiffany’s with your girlfriend! It’s a trap! Abort mission!’

Well, I missed that, so like the doofus I am, I say, ‘Sure, we can browse! And let me squat a bit more so you can kick me firmly in the crotch without any annoying thigh interference!’ OK, I didn't say the last bit, that's hindsight being 20/20 and all. Teaches me to ask how gift registries work while in front of a Tiffany's, though. Nobody's fault but my own.

Now, what I didn’t know then, but know now, and men, pay attention, this could save many a headache for you down the road:

Women, for some unknown reason, absolutely love nothing more than shopping for things they simply can’t afford. They love it. It’s even more fun if they can try out the item in question, pretend to own it, revel in it, and then leave the store, giggling like 10 year olds at an 'N Sync concert. They can’t stand how much fun they’re having.

Men---we tend to avoid this technique at all costs under the general principle, ‘OK, that’s just whack.’ I don’t ever go into Best Buy, sit in the surround sound booth in front of a 48’’ TV, then leave going, ‘That was not only worth my time, but doesn’t make me feel utterly inadequate.’ Has simply never happened. I avoid actively approaching things I can’t afford. I know they exist, but I don’t need to go right up to them and have me purposely tortured by being so close, yet so far away. (This is also why I can’t understand the poor slob at the strip club who isn’t getting any in real life, so he goes and pays $200 a night to be blue-balled. Just completely foreign to me.)But girls do this. It’s right up there with group trips to the bathroom on the list of ‘Stuff Guys Simply Will Never Ever Get About Women’.

So, back to Chicago. I figure I’ll humor her, we’re in a good mood, and we both (I thought) considered it to be a fun lark. So we’re looking around, and she’s using buzz words like ‘carat’ and ‘platinum’ and I’m thinking ‘mmm…a cheeseburger would be yummy right now’ and before I know it, we’re in front of the engagement rings. And I watch in horror as my militant, feminist, girl-power girlfriend turns into Gollum before my very eyes. Those eyes of Smeagol in ‘The Two Towers’ I think are based off surveillance footage of Jenny’s increasing ocular orbs. It was like that freakish ‘Black Hole Sun’ video by Soundgarden. Just unnerving.

A salesman finally comes over. ‘Can I help you?’ he asks. Ahh, I think, here’s our out. We say ‘No thanks!’ and casually walk slowly towards the door. As I start to formulate the word ‘No’ in my mouth, Gollum/Jenny says in a slightly different voice than I had ever heard, ‘Yes!’ and proceeds to point out a particular ring. Well, I was too busy focusing on actually preventing my knees from buckling under to me to hear precisely what the man said as he slipped the ring on his finger, but I’m pretty sure I heard the words, ‘1.3 carats’, ‘platinum setting’, and ‘$15,000’.

‘Isn’t that lovely?’ I said, trying to drown out Jenny’s intonations about a ‘Precious’. ‘Well, shouldn’t we meet your mother? Lots to do today!’

‘Wait, you don’t like this setting, you told me! Let’s have a look at that other one!’

Drat. Me and my silly mouth had said how I didn’t like the tear-drop setting in theory, preferring the rounder setting. So another hunk of rock slips on her figure, this time registering at a cool $17,000. $32,000 worth of diamond and platinum, I drag Jenny out, who, to her credit, didn’t pitch a fit and scream, ‘Losssssssssst!!!!’

(To not only mock her, I’ll confess that, until two months ago, I thought you took the engagement ring off when you got married, which made a $15K investment even that much more ludicrous at the time, but it’s still as unnerving as the fact that Freddie Prinze Jr. gets to see Sarah Michelle Gellar naked and the rest of us don’t. Silly me, I know. Moving on...)

Side note---for our 18 month ‘anniversary’ or whatever you call a milestone at 18 months, I was wracking my brain with what to get her. Up until that point, I had avoided jewelry, because Jenny only likes Tiffany’s, and well, one trip in there had been enough for me. But as 18 months rolled around, I thought I’d at least give it a chance. After all, if I was going with jewelry, I might as well go with what I know she likes and I can pretty much guarantee will go over well. Problem is, I walked into the store knowing only two words: Tiffany’s and platinum.

The lady readership is currently laughing, and the guys are waiting for the punchline, I imagine.

Well, the stories they say are true: there’s a white light, it’s not painful, and you see your grandmother, if she’s not alive. Luckily, the EMTs applied the paddles to my slumped body near the platinum display case and I avoided my entrance into the pearly gates. I dusted myself off, shook off the cobwebs, and went to Tower Records to buy her a CD.

Sweet Jesus. Help me stop the insanity, guys. Ladies, we’re all in this together. We love you paying 50/50 at restaurants. We dig that ‘Independent Women’ song as much as you do. Get a job, get three, just don’t get mad when we suggest that a $10,000, a $5,000, or even a $3,000 ring is not necessary to begin the marriage process. If a guy can afford that type of bling bling for you, by all means, but when it comes down to it, I’d sink $10,000 into a house. With, you know, a room with surround sound and a 48’’ plasma screen TV’.