July 28th, 2005


The Brave and the Bling-iful

Image hosted by Photobucket.com (photo courtesy of Cole)

So I bought myself a new necklace. Do not attempt to adjust the glare on your monitor. That is, in fact, my skin tone.

I got a bonus at work … because of, you know, all my diligent blogging and personal emailing and critiquing during work hours, apparently.

And Hubs is working again. So we’re feeling flush. (Hubs was laid off two years ago – he’s a commercial journeyman electrician – and he JUST got a job about a month ago.) (Yippee for economic recovery in our slumping state.)

Does it sound like I’m trying to defend my frivolous purchase?

I rarely wear, let alone buy, jewelry. In fact, the motivation for my impulse buy occurred a few days ago. My jewelry box (I keep wanting to spell it ‘jewellery.’ I like that spelling better) was sitting out on the dining room table. (We were pawing through it the other night when we were dressing up “Professor Trelawney” for the Harry Potter party.)

Cole was awestruck by all of the treasures. “Where did you get all of this?!” he asked, like he was gazing down at the Crown Jewels.

“Well, people bought some of it for me. That watch was my grandma’s. And I bought some of it. That’s what happens during life – you collect things.”

He held up a freshwater pearl and garnet choker. “It’s all so beauuuutiful,” he breathed.

I dug through the box, looking for a necklace. So much skin is showing during summer – it needs decoration. Everything was either old (as opposed to retro), or too fancy for work. I went to work unadorned.

On my lunch hour, I went into the jewelry store in my building. After a bit of chatting (“I like silver better than gold,” etc.), the saleswoman gently lifted out a gorgeous black pearl necklace. After noticing the $450 price tag, I was as eager to get rid of it as Katie Bell.

So this is what I chose. I love it. I feel like I should be clicking finger cymbals and undulating parts of my body when I wear it.

But the best part was when I went to pick up Cole after work. “Matthew,” he said to his friend, as he caught sight of me. “Do you notice anything different about my mom?”

(I love this age. At seven, sons think their mothers are gorgeous and wise. We cherish these times, knowing that before long they will see us with gimlet eyes, and they will give hugs grudgingly before they retreat to their fortress of solitude.)

My husband, naturally, did not notice the necklace.

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