Jennifer Aniston announced her engagement last week, but when tabloids caught up with her yesterday she seemed to be hiding the ring. She could be having it sized or she might be heading off speculation of its cost in the inevitable Jen v. Angie wedding competition manufactured by Us Weekly. Whatever the reason, let’s let it slide. They are her reasons. I had mine.
Allow me to use my granny voice and start a story with this reminds me of the time . . . when I used to hide my engagement ring at work. I slid it off as soon as I sat down at my desk in the morning and didn’t put it on until I went home at night. This went on for two months until one day I got so sick of a flirty coworker asking me steamy questions that I yelled, “I’m engaged! God! Leave me alone!” The guy asked me to prove it to him so I popped a platinum solitaire out of my coin purse and put it on like a power ring. Problem solved.
You may never openly compliment my ass again, for I am backed by the power of betrothal! Mwahahahah!
Why did I hide it? Well. I had been in a sticky situation, you see. My fiancé was my former boss and we still worked at the same company. It was awkward. I was embarrassed. I wanted to be respected. It’s easier to sell things if buyers think you’re single. It wasn’t anyone’s business at work what I did with my personal life. Etcetera.
There are a million reasons I took the ring off at work, but once I put it on for the whole world to see that day, life changed. The flirty guy said, “what the hell are you doing? Put your shit on and be proud!” and he never mentioned my rack again. The engagement became official and oddly, I seemed to garner more respect from my other coworkers too. I don’t know if it was that they knew about the charade all along and perhaps quit seeing the hubs and me as scandalous sluts and started seeing us as a legitimate couple. Or it could have been that as a young woman in an all-male department my T & A were fair game but with a ring on my finger, especially a ring from one of their superiors, my sexuality was suddenly off-limits. Or maybe I walked taller or didn’t seem as vulnerable? Maybe my confidence grew because I instead of a liability in my purse, I had a disco ball on my finger that made my $20 shoes shine brighter.
I’m a little sad I missed out on the part of city girl life of when a woman gets engaged, the news is met with a chorus of squeals from office ladies. When a sorority chick gets a ring, a whole house of sisters dings bells and throws confetti. Yet when my hubs-to-be put a ring on it, he and I partied until dawn in Vegas and kept our plans under wraps about the small Sunday ceremony we were planning. Oh well. Maybe my kids can throw confetti at me at our golden anniversary party in 2057. I want accolades this time, dammit.
Here we are pretending not to be each other’s date at the company holiday party. Seems legit . . . ish.
Filed under: Memory Lane