Yesterday the Russian lover and I went for dinner at this Belgian ale house, and found ourselves seated nearby the friend of a former fling of his. The friend, apparently, had hated him from the time she first met him; the Russian lover had excused himself to her before turning to the other girl she was with and picking her up. The friend was blonde - a professional dancer or cheerleader - and the fling-to-be was brunette.
I have never yet met a blonde who doesn't expect to receive all the male attention when she is out with her brunette friend; I have also never yet met a blonde who doesn't become petty and pissy when, by some fluke, her brunette friend receives the attention that should be going to her. You would think that this would discourage brunettes from hanging out with their blonde friends, but the reality is just the opposite. Blondes tend to leave a social vaccum in their wake, yes; but as a brunette you can appreciate this vaccum. When an attractive blonde walks into a room, she sucks up the attention of every male in the room. Every average, uninteresting, and generally neanderthalithic male, that is. But the most interesting guys are the ones who eyes lilt over the blonde to observe the brunette beside her. Blondes are like magnets for every chuckleheaded joe in every bar, and as such they spare the brunette of having to identify the chuckleheaded joes, or intereact with them. It streamlines her social experience; the brunette can quickly locate an interesting guy or two that's noticed her, while the blonde can enjoy basking in the attention of a court of admirers. Everybody wins!
Unless the bar is almost empty, and the one attractive male sidesteps the blonde to get the brunette's phone number in order to later engage her in a brief but exciting and expensive whirlwhind romance. Which is exactly what the Russian lover did, and this blonde had apparently decided to hold it against him indefinately.
So it was very strange when we sat down, and they locked eyes, and the first thing she did was immediately take both of her hands off the table and hide them in her lap. Then she all but wrapped her left hand up in a napkin, and it was while she was doing this that we were mometarily flashed by 4 carats worth of diamond. I suspect that if she had not been sitting next to a loud, obnoxious man with his arm around her, and across from a woman who was obviously his mother, she would have pulled off the ring altogether and slipped it in her pocket. But such as it was, she diligently kept her left hand obscured. She did not, however, make an effort to hide her obvious boredom with the man beside her and the woman across from them.
(She had also, it must be noted, gone brunette.)
I guess she didn't realize that engagement rings, on most women, are like wearing a sign that says "easy." Engaged women are desparate to be talked out of their decision, or desparate to have one last fling, or ten last flings, before they give themselves up to chaste wedded bliss with One. Guy. Forever. So they pounce on any flirtation - affirmation that today, at least, they are still desireable single girls on the market, weighing offers and taking bids. Today, at least, they are still free women who can run home with anyone they want and it's still just cheating, not yet adultery (and a potential threat to the alimony).
I know some people have these romantic ideas about engagement rings symbolizing "a promise" or a "bond." I guess I have never been much of a romantic, then, because I have always considered engagement rings to be a down payment on a pussy.
A guy drops a few thousand, give or take, to lock in a particular woman for his future exclusive use. She accepts the down payment, and agrees to this future of exclusive exchange of goods and services. Voila - the socio-economic transaction we call "marriage" is completed.
Cynical? No - I just don't believe in applying institutions to human relationships. The second you start trying to live up to an "idea" of a relationship is the second you stop having a genuine human relationship. Marriage is a concept that people try to conform to, and that is probably why most of them fail. If more people were concerned about just being happy with another person on whatever terms work for both them, and less concerned about having a good thing called a "marriage" - well, perhaps more people would find themselves capable of partnering for life.
Which is not to say I wouldn't love having about 6 carats on my finger someday. It's just I will have to be clear with the bloke that his down payment has not secured him exclusive rights and priveledges. He cannot become sole proprieter, but merely a majority stakeholder, of my person and my pussy. If you think a man wouldn't agree to it, remember that the arrangement goes both ways.
Find a man that wouldn't agree to that, and I'll show you a guy that is probably busy chasing the blondes.