Why yes, that is my sister’s dress.
Lord(ette) of the ring
By JAMMIE SALAGUBANG – Buzz Editor
The leaves are changing color, the air a little nippier. People are starting to bundle up. ‘Tis the season — for money leaving your pockets in vast quantities.
Recently, I went to a fundraiser for the Feather River Hospital emergency department, held at the Paradise Elks Lodge. A gala event, the Elks Lodge had been transformed with black draperies and mood lighting. Nary an Elk head was to be seen (well, maybe one). A jazz band (with a jazz flutist!) turned up the ambiance.
This year marks the hospital’s diamond anniversary, so the tabletops were scattered with jewels so pretty and shiny that I was tempted to put some in my mouth and chew on them. The presence of the older, dignified people and my man’s boss at the table dissuaded me, however.
To fit the occasion, I wore something fabulous, and per our agreement, every time someone complimented me on it I had to tell them it was my sister’s dress.
The event also featured a silent auction. An engagement and wedding ring set caught my eye. I already have an engagement ring, but one cannot have too many shoes, bags, dresses, sweaters, hair (on the head), socks, underwear, emergency snacks, barrettes, toilet paper, pens and, of course, diamands (or so I’ve been told). Also, I’ve been looking for a wedding ring, and the starting bid for the pair was just $60.
But I didn’t know if they would fit. I didn’t think it would be proper to take them down as they were prominently displayed on the table (under a spotlight, no less). But enough people (OK, two) reassured me I could try them on.
I tried on the wedding ring. It actually went over the first half of my finger fairly smoothly. I was a bit concerned when I felt some squeezing as it went over my knuckle. It was a centimeter from the base when I decided I couldn’t live with it that tight on my finger. It got stuck at the knuckle as I tried to pull it off. Relax, I told myself. But all my exertions started turning my finger red and puffy.
Of course, this is when people started to browse at my end of the table. I started to panic. Someone suggested I go to the bathroom and use soap to take it off, but I didn’t want to look like I was walking away with it. I could just see the headline, “Fiancee of event organizer steals ring from fundraiser.”
But now it felt like my circulation was being cut off. I stuck my hands in my pockets (did I not say this was a fabulous dress?) and decided to risk it. I made it to the bathroom. It was full of women, naturally. But I was in such a lather of anxiety I didn’t care who saw.
First application of soap — nothing. I needed more. Finally after some tense moments and fat-finger paranoia, it slid off.
The ring was returned triumphantly and safely back to its box, even daresay, a bit shinier.
But I decided not to bid on it. I was happy to return to my seat with just some wisdom, a little embarrassment and extremely clean hands.
Jammie Karlman is the entertainment editor for the Chico Enterprise-Record. Contact her at email@example.com. Follow her on Twitter @JammieKarlman