The Story Of My Engagement Ring
The other day someone asked me in an email what Michael did for a living. I replied that he works as a health management consultant, why? She said she wanted to know how he made so much money. I quickly responded back that he doesn't and where in the world would she get that idea? I don't wear nice or designer clothes, I take trips but that's because we save up like crazy, I don't live in some huge mansion- so what gives? She told me that my engagement ring tipped her off.
So I thought I would tell you the story of my engagement ring. Spoiler alert: Michael did not buy this ring.
Michael did buy the small diamond band that I wear on my pointer finger. Michael's wedding ring broke (we went to Jared) and so we had some credit for me to pick out something. I am the worst when it comes to wearing jewelry but there is one thing I never take off and that's my ring. So I thought: hey more diamonds never hurt anyone.
Not to brag but I have a spectacular engagement ring. I'm allowed to say that because it was free.
Yep, Michael got off easy.
This ring is over 90 years old and has been passed down from generations and generations where that will stop with me since I will be buried in it. JK. I will pass it down. Maybe.
My Dad's side of the family are jewelers. My grandfather owned a store called “Flournoy's Jewelers” in Shreveport, Louisiana where my family is from. (Flournoy is my maiden name).
My great grandmother was given the ring when she had her first born.
Then it was passed down to my grandmother for her engagement.
Then my aunt Kate for hers.
When Michael and I were talking about getting engaged my Dad approached Michael to tell him he had a ring, or at least a diamond. (Right, my Dad Approached Michael, meaning Michael didn't even have to ask for my hand in marriage my Dad was so gung-ho about having a son in law.) Michael had no idea what the ring looked like. For all he knew it was hideous and I would hate it. But he said ok and decided he would find out what the ring looked like later.
Without me knowing I would get the ring, over Christmas we went ring shopping, so Michael could get an idea of what I liked. This might not of been the best idea since he told me he had no plans to propose for at least a year. I would occasionally hint at how rude that was.
Well he wouldn't find out until the day he proposed.
My aunt was terrified of sending the ring in the mail or any other way of sending it, other than to fly from Birmingham, Alabama to Dallas, Texas. I understand, I wouldn't want to be responsible for losing the family heirloom either.
The day Michael proposed my aunt slid the ring off her finger and handed it to Michael.
Michael was very happy, to say the least, since the ring was gorgeous.
If you want to read the full proposal/love story it's a good one, but this post is the ring's time to shine. Needless to say Michael proposed outside my parent's house where we had our first kiss. With shaky hands I opened the door to find 60+ of my closest friends and family, and my aunt to tell me about the ring's significance.
I'm still teary eyed, clearly.
The night Michael proposed I was throwing my hands up in the air I must have dropped the ring 15 times.
One thing about me: I have tiny fingers. I wish I could say that about my butt, no just naturally tiny fingers.
|I never seem to have paint on my nails.|
We took the ring to get sized and I was anxious to have it back.
I had a responsibility now.
What if they lose it? Replace the diamonds with fakes? Someone steals it? Throws it in the trash?
I got it back safe and sound and it forever sits proudly on my ring finger. (or until I pass it down to the next lucky girl).
Usually I'm shy about taking compliments, but not about my ring.
I get excited when people say: I love your ring!
I say thanks, and they get an earful of my generational ring history.
One thing that holds true: Every woman who has ever worn the ring, has always stayed together. And that's a tradition will never be broken.