It is my own fault really. When I agreed to fork out the cash equivalent of the GDP of a small country on an engagement ring I stupidly assumed that would be it. After all, didn’t my lovely fiance tell me that "the wedding rings will be much more reasonable".
Foolish, foolish, me.
She went to the jeweller yesterday. This isn’t your Michael Hill or Ratners sort of jeweller. This is the kind where you need an appointment. The kind that can only be described as reassuringly expensive. It didn’t help that the rock in the engagement ring is very nice, apparently there is no way she can possibly have a wedding ring without some little friends for it.
So the shopping list was one wedding ring for the lady, in platinum, with at least six embedded diamonds and one platinum wedding ring for the man. I selflessly volunteered to have none at all but was shot down in short order there. After much discussion with the nice man at the jewellers she got a quote. Surprisingly enough the price is suitably astronomic, as I am sure you have guessed by now.
But at least her ring will look very elegant as it clasps the micropohone at our Karaoke reception. That, however, is another story entirely.