As it’s Leap Day today, and all over the land hoardes of women are proposing to their stunned but hopefully happy men, I thought I’d tell you a little bit about how Paul proposed to me. (Bear with me here; this isn’t yet another narcissitic ‘me me me’ post, I have a point to get to. There is angst.)
Paul and I had been together 6 and a half years when he proposed on 28th December 2011. I wouldn’t say I had been nagging him exactly, but there had been *gentle pressure* in the form of talking about weddings and more specifically ‘our hypothetical wedding’ non-stop. Don’t judge me- I work in a bridal boutique and I’m preparing to become a wedding planner- I like weddings.
Christmas came and went and my Facebook newsfeed was awash with engagements and proposal stories. I’d turn to Paul when news of another one came in, my bottom lip slightly protruding like a child and he’d stroke my head and tell me, ‘Don’t worry, little one. Your time will come.’
Now I need to mention the ring at this point. About a year prior to the proposal, I was at my Mum’s when she told me she had my late Grandmother’s engagement ring and that she would love me to use it when the day came for Paul to pull his finger out. Or specifically, she wanted me to use the diamond as she knew I wanted something fairly chunky and this was a dainty little ring. I told Paul there was a ring and a diamond and started to secretly devour the Harriet Kelsall website, where I had decided my ring was going to be made from.
So. Back to the proposal. And I’m going to tell this quickly:
The 28th December came and off we trotted to Cambridge where we had booked our Christmas present to each other; a night away at The Varsity– a really gorgeous, chic hotel in the heart of the city. We spent a lovely day wandering and shopping and eating and punting, and wound up in the bath together, back in the hotel room where Paul pulled my grandmother’s ring out of nowhere and asked me to marry him. Without going in to too much detail it was romantic and intimate and perfect. And we promptly went out and got very, very drunk.
It’s best that picture is kept small. Up close it’s just a bit… swollen.
When wandering around Cambridge during the day we had discovered that there was a Harriet Kelsall Jewellery shop in the middle of the town centre (or rather I had discovered, then shrieked, then proceeded to tell Paul that it was ‘just some jewellers that make really, really nice bespoke rings’). So the next morning off we went to the shop, my little legs practically skipping with excitement, to have a little chat about having something special made.
Except we never did. Because as we sat in the shop, surrounded by bands and rulers and clasps and drawings, it slowly began to dawn on me that my grandmother’s ring was beautiful. And that if we did melt it down and remove the diamonds, it would never ever be the same again. Yes, it was daintier than I had ever wanted and yes, the clasps were slightly wonky and the setting unusual… but it was my Grandmother’s engagement ring and it had been bequeathed to me. Changing it felt like sacrilege.
So instead we took it home and had it re-sized and cleaned up. My mum was over the moon that I was keeping it as it was, Paul’s credit card was doing cartwheels over the fact it wasn’t about to be seriously abused, and I just couldn’t stop taking pictures…
Yesterday though, a bride came in to the shop who has turned my love for my engagement ring a little bit upside down. Because she had the most beautiful engagement ring I have ever seen. Now I see a lot of beautiful engagement rings working in a bridal boutique, and I love hearing the stories of how they came to be. But this ring… well, it just blew my mind and I’ve been thinking about it ever since.
I don’t have a photo to show you (because asking the bride if I could take one would have been very, very uncool) but I will try to describe it…
The band was quite chunky at its widest point, say 4 or 5mm which tapered down to 2 or 3mm as the band goes under the finger. The centre-point was a square diamond which was set in to the band so that if you were to run your finger along the top it would feel smooth. And then encased in to the band also, on either side of the main diamond, were 3 rows of tiny, tiny diamonds (41 in total- she told me). So small that it managed to not look blingy- just smooth and sparkly and beautiful. When you looked at it from the side (which I did, very closely) you saw no claws, no gaps; just pure, smooth platinum. Despite the 41 diamonds, it was a very subtle ring.
I suppose it was a bit like the gold ring in the picture above, except the band tapered as it went around the finger, and the whole surface was encased in tiny, tiny diamonds. It had been made bespoke for the bride in Sri Lanka and it probably cost a fortune, but boy, was it perfect.
So what happens from here? Do I just forget and move on? Or do I pursue this and at least investigate having something similar made??
Has anyone reading ever had a serious ring wobble? Did you change it and were you pleased with the outcome?? I would really, really love to hear from you if you have experienced something similar… I’m a woman in need today!
You can tell me if I’m just being an idiot.