With less than a month to go, any fears that my wedding would find me trussed up and humiliated in outfits and ceremonies I didn’t understand have proved unfounded. Instead, I’ve found myself on a short voyage of self discovery, the main discovery being that dressing up and adorning myself like a peacock isn’t all that unpleasant. Given that it’s unlikely to be happening again any time soon, I think I can safely admit that I quite like it.
What was it supposed to look like? No idea.
Shopping for a wedding ring was interesting, for much the same reason. I don’t wear jewellery. Ever. I don’t wear a watch. I don’t even like scarves. Stuff hanging off me, or encircling any part of me, makes me uncomfortable and uneasy.
I had absolutely no idea what I wanted in a ring. This is a symbolic piece of metal, that I was required to wear on my hand for the rest of my days. I was going to be looking at this thing until my eyes couldn’t see. What was it supposed to look like?
I could have been shopping for tin openers. I wandered, bored, in and out of jewellery franchises, looking for a piece of metal at an appropriate price, that didn’t offend me. None of them offended me. None of them pleased me.
I gathered the troops. ‘M’ and the girls gallantly traipsed in and out of the same shops that I’d already checked. I took comfort from the fact that they were as bored as me – even more so, because kids don’t shop well (a proven fact). Maybe I wasn’t missing some important part of my psyche? Maybe…these were just shit rings?
These rings…they had a history.
We gave up and grabbed a coffee. As we sat outside the brewhouse, sipping, I spied a small, independent jewellers booth, with signs proudly proclaiming ‘second hand wedding bands – all stock must go’. I wandered over, and started bemoaning my disinterest to the patient and receptive young lady working there. She pulled out a rack of overpriced second hand wedding bands, which varied wildly in style and quality. Nevertheless, I felt something inside me stir – these rings had history. These weren’t just anonymous pieces of metal. These rings had represented something, someone. These rings had been handed from proud best men, slipped on to trembling hands by excited brides. Rubbed nervously at moments of temptation. Flung across living rooms, during devastating arguments. These rings had stories. These rings had lived.
It was perfect. But not quite…
She pulled out a few more bands, and then I saw something that made me pause. It was a white and rose gold band. I’d never even heard of rose gold. But my inner Gollum was rubbing his hands in glee, his eyes wide, taking in the gleam.
I had a reference point! I ran back to ‘M’, who’d just about finished her coffee. We dragged the unamused children with us to the booth, where ‘M’ expressed her surprise that I’d found something that wasn’t hideous, then whispered in my ear that we should have a look at some Etsy type crafty ringmakers, who might whip us up something more specific, for a lot less. And new, because despite my sentimental ramblings above, I didn’t want a ring with psychic baggage.
Sarah Jane Egan, of fragmentdesigns.com, did us a lovely job on two rose gold bands, with engravings inspired by nature and trees and stuff. Great work, great price, they were with us in just over a week. Happy days!
I’m starting to get really excited. As much as it’s been a pain in the arse to plan, at times, I might be a bit gutted when it’s all over.