Don't mean a thing if you ain't got that ring
Mostly to satisfy my parents' wishes, I bought a class ring recently. I'm not a ring person, really. I'm barely even a watch person. I don't have a good reason for this attitude, unless unencumbered hands is a good reason. ("Unencumbered"? Sure.) I didn't get a high school ring, telling myself I would get a college ring instead. Four years at a heartless, gutless liberal arts university broke that enthusiasm rather well.
Despite my complaints, my parents repeatedly brought up the subject during spring break. I caved after returning to school. On the last day to order, I asked a few graduate classmates if they had college rings. One classmate said that his parents were still nagging him about not ordering one. Ten months after his graduation.
I got myself to the Traditions USA stand at the university center and considered my options. First, yellow gold or white gold? Easy — yellow gold. If I'm paying for gold, the ring sure better look like gold. Next, the K choice. 10K, 14K or 18K? Easy again — 10K. It's the cheapest, and what do I care about K?
Finally, ring style: small, medium or large? I ruled out the large right away; Captain Planet already has a North American representative. The decision between the small and medium was more difficult. The medium seemed to be the more normal college ring size, but the small was $60 cheaper and, of course, less encumbering. In my mind, I leaned toward the small. My ring finger would be so happy with it.
I asked the saleswoman which size people usually chose — the medium or the small? Blonde, lightly tanned, bubbly, and rather attractive, she looked deep into my indecisive eyes and smiled as she spoke.
"Usually just the girls order the small," she said.
My ring finger will learn to live with my decision.
