The Four C's

My friend Little Rock Arkansas and I joke about getting married all the time because we just KNOW that it would work. Sure, and perhaps unfortunately, neither of us is from the Island of Lesbos, but MOST marriages are sexless after a while anyway, right? We're SO ahead of the game, we'd just START OUT sexless, and keep the thing running on pure unadulterated love. (And hysteria?)

After a long couple of weeks cooped up inside dedicatedly tending to a family member who just went through a bit of slicing and dicing (surgery), Little Rock went with said recuperating family member to a local mall, to walk around a bit and then go see Blood Diamond.

Then she decided on a whim to use her time alone in the mall to go *engagement ring shopping* before wandering over to the theater.

You know, it's partly this perverse sense of humour of hers that makes my heart go pitter-pat. I mean, this notion from a woman who has dedicated her enormous heart and years of her life to working in Africa and in its warzones, and who has a pretty profound handle on trade and human rights issues in the developing world.

"What is the groom's budget?" the salesperson politely inquired.

"Well, I feel it would be kind of indiscreet to get into that just yet," Little Rock replied coyly. "Let's just see what you've got."

On the phone with me she announced, "So I found out about my ring size and what cut I like. Um, it has to be round, slightly raised, and really sparkly with a platinum band."

She went on, now in her breathiest squeakiest most carefree voice, the one that works because she is four billion miles from being a ditz, "I learned SO MUCH. But I forget what the four C's are... I think they're what, cut, colour, and, uh champagne? And maybe cute. Yeah, I'm pretty sure diamonds are supposed to be CUTE."

(We've decided, for the record, to get our rings from a gumball machine.)