H, for Getting Hitched

Anyone who's been reading this blog for more than a few months will remember Harry, my irrational romance obsession in the weeks before I met my current squeeze and love of my life. The hippy in me says that if I'd never fallen for Harry and insisted on going out with him late in the night, I never would have met TMI, so the whole mess was fate, but that's another story.

The breaking news is that Harry's girlfriend just recently posted on Facebook a photo of her hand, newly adorned with a diamond ring. Well don't that just beat all. No, I'm not crushed, just jealous that she's wearing one and I'm not. What is it with 20-something girls and getting engaged anyway! For the record I'm in no hurry to be married, I just want to be intended; there's a big difference here. One is sexy, young, involves a diamond, and the other involves adulthood, feeling old, and housework. (In my young mind, anyway.)

So how has my mature and rational self handled this jealousy, one might ask? I bought a faux diamond and used the pretense that I was wearing it as creep repellant for a woman traveling alone, (which I am, after all) and also a young lady un-escorted by her boyfriend to clubs and bars. Whatever. I'm not too old for imaginary playing house, I guess.

p.s: if you haven't all ready, please remember to Fight for the Phoque, and send a message to the Canadian prime minister.