The ring.

IMG_1406.JPGIn 2003, we had some pretty limited resources. Three young kids. We were working for ourselves in a still uncertain business climate.

And yet, when we went to the Baltimore Antique Show at the end of that August and Andrew saw the 1991 (I like to say vintage) Cartier Love ring, he knew. He tracked me down (I had wandered somewhere, as I do at those big shows) and showed it to me.

“Do you love it?”

“I do,” I said.

And he bought it for our upcoming 10th anniversary.

Although I didn’t know, or even ask, the price at the time, it was probably the most irrational, irresponsible purchase of our lives up until that point. (I could argue that our dinner at Alinea a few years ago overtook that honor.)

I have worn that ring most days since then. I swap in my engagement ring/band sometimes and some other times I wear my grandmother’s wide monogrammed rose gold band. Am I the only one who switches it up? For me, it’s not the ring, it’s the commitment. But, I digress.

Over the past 13 years, with regular wear and the fact that I am the opposite of delicate and careful, that beautiful Love band got pretty much beaten to shit.

Scratches, filth in the grooves, you name it.

I might have mentioned it. I might not have. I have no idea. But it doesn’t matter. What matters is that Andrew had the ring buffed and cleaned. And it’s gorgeous.

 

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