I must be rough on my jewelry. Actually, I KNOW I'm rough on my jewelry. In the first few months of being engaged, I had to take my engagement ring back to the jeweler (Reuben, who was our favorite little Romanian guy in Cleveland) to get more substantial prongs. The diamond had become loose.
So when I noticed it jiggling nearly 4 YEARS LATER (more on our anniversary today later), I found another hole in the wall establishment in the phone book, "Wayne's Fine Jewelry." I am all about supporting local businesses (and thus potentially knocking off some of the cost from big jewelry store's overhead), but this guy's store shop could have very easily been the most mungy, cluttered, musty place in which I have spent time. Wayne's beard and grey hair was long enough to donate to Locks of Love, he was wearing black leather pants, and several framed posters throughout the room boasted, "I am the toughest Harley-Riding Dude you'll ever meet" or "I [heart] Harley's." More power to him! Rock on motorcycle dude!
But when he told me the cost to add more white gold to the prongs to secure the diamond, I was further encouraged to shop around. He did add, "Take that ring off NOW, because you are asking to lose that diamond!" So for the past week, I have been walking around at the grocery, school, and the neighborhood looking VERY much like I am having this baby out of wedlock. People who don't know me when I run into the store with a raggamuffin scrubby pair of sweats on and a belly buldging may have a mental label: TEENAGE PREGNANCY (because despite my nearing entry to the third decade of life, I still look 17 in sweats - baby face AND height from my dad!).
Anyway, bottom line: I took my beloved ring to an established jeweler here in town, who quoted the same work for 20 bucks cheaper. Yeehaa. So I handed over my wedding diamond, the symbol of my commitment to Scott, 4 years later to the day that he put the set on my finger. Ha!
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