Give Megan A Ring
A while back I lost a ring. A pretty, antique, diamond filled ring that had been entrusted to me by grandmother.
“You might want to get it resized if you're going to wear it. It's really quite big on you”
“nah Gran, it'll be fine, who loses rings? I'd have to be flinging my hands around heaps for that to happen”
I had a good month or so with the ring. Then one day it vanished from my not-quite large enough fingers. Cursing myself for being so stupid (I still don't understand how I lost it) I assumed it would never be found nor returned.
I had a phone call yesterday from a fellow at a bookstore where I'd left my number, just incase it turned up. It had indeed surfaced, behind a chair, in a corner, under a bookshelf. Why didn't I think to look there? The phone call was odd. Kind of like Twenty Questions crossed with Who Wants to be a Millionaire.
“What did the ring look like?”
“um, Thin gold band, cluster of diamonds on the top. Lot's of little ones in a abstract floral shape..”
“was there any inscription or writing on the band?”
“where about in the store were you? Design section?”
“yeah, design section... I bought some design books, but was all around the shop really”
This was the Million Dollar Question:
“what colour were the diamonds?”
“diamond. They were diamond colour...”
“yep. YEP. It's your ring. You can come on in and pick it up when you like”
I was rather happy when I collected it. I wanted to hug Chris the Ring Bearer, but thought it might be best if I save my enthusiasm. He didn't look like the sort that would tolerate surprise affection from excitable girls.
I think I might look into having it resized.
Keep on dancing.