Gypped

I'm not the really type of girl who enjoys discussing sparkly shit. Rings are nice and all, and I'm pleased to admire your newly-acquired (or newly-polished, or antique, or WHATEVER) ice or other random bauble for the moment, but I SO DO NOT want to talk about settings, and the 4Cs, art deco vs. classic, and the proper degree of obsequiousness in waitpeople, the best temperature to put you in the mood for jewelery shopping, and the like.

On the other hand, I'm willing to put up with much in order to suck up to the people who decide whether or not I deserve to have new office furniture. My chair is of the 70s in a rather less-than-cool way, and I was hoping to trade up for a newer, leather-er model that just happened to be unused in the untenanted offices down the way. We plopped ourselves down in the chairs, oohed and ahhed at their clear superiority, and I, desperate to make a pleasant small talk impression on the gatekeeper, made an innocent inquiry regarding her shiny hand decoration:

Oh, squeal! New fiancee! Happiness and joy!

[interest and felicitations]

The first ring didn't cut it. Here's why.

[my seriously? eyebrows were smoothed down into sympathy and admiration]

This is how I picked the new, perfect ring.

[frozen, pasted smile]

5 digits he spent on me!!!

[I'm all for glee, but under the circumstances...]

But there's one more I have my eye on...

[OMG]

What do you think?

[babble]

etc.

FOR AN HOUR.

That I could have billed.

And no, I didn't even get my chair. Life is grotesquely unfair.