Fabulous, Dahling

“In a small celebration attended by one, a 30 year old divorced straight Calgarian woman marries herself”

Hey , if I can recycle that gorgeous black velvet 70’s gown of me ma’s for my Christmas party, I can sure as hell recycle my engagement ring!

The trick, I heard, is to bury it overnight on a full moon. Hopefully the ground won’t be frozen tomorrow night! This action is said to cleanse it of any past emotional ties.

I fell in love with it, really. I’ll never forget the day we picked it up on that narrow cobble stoned street in Downtown Munich.
“We’re going shopping” we grinningly told our coworkers as we set out that March morning from Riessersee, above Garmish. We had collectively decided the purchase was necessary after being faced with two realities:
a) it would be a hell of a lot easier to get his ass into Canada (still ended up taking us 8 years…)
b) there was no way on earth that his Turkish/Muslim Ali Baba of a dad would let us live in sin.

So there we found ourselves. After a fabulous lunch at one of my favorite veggie eateries , standing at the street corner facing the jewelry shop.

“I need a ring for my girlfriend” he awkwardly told the Sales woman. “What kind of ring? “ she coyly asked, raising both an eyebrow and one corner of her richly lipsticked lips. “Just a ring”. Blushes.

I found it shortly after. I had maybe looked at a couple dozen, when I laid eyes on it and that was that. It’s very simple, actually. Just 3 small flat diamonds in a row on a rounded band of gold. I mistakenly thought the 7 was a 1 (‘cause they write them funny over there). Realizing too late- just after he had told the bemused and ever helpful Sales lady that we’d take it.

“Oh, no” I said, thinking this is NOT in the budget. And back and forth bobbed her head as the rebuttal ensued. “You only get engaged once in your life” I think is what he said. And that decided it. The ring was mine.

Well, officially a few minutes later, in the middle of walking down the street, pedestrians on both sides of us. Mr. Romantic hands me the little box with the red bow and says, “here, put it on”.

I’m like, “Right here? Right now? But you haven’t even asked me yet!”

“Asked you what?” he says with a big ass grin.

I remember my trembling fingers as I slipped it on my finger. The tears of joy as I hugged him. In the middle of that street.

Till I said “I have to call my mom” and off we went to find the Post Office.

p.s. Guess what finger I’m going to wear it on now?