Why So Many Women Aren’t Married: An Allegory
By Sally Bishai (07/04/06)
Once upon a time, I won a nifty voucher that entitled me to one free ring of my choice at Glitterati Jewelers. Since their name is synonymous with “Quality, Comfort, and a Whole Lotta Bling For Your Buck!,” I was psyched!
The certificate said that I had to choose before the close of business on a given Friday, so I arranged to take the whole day off, planning to wake up extra early so that I could take my time in getting myself dolled up. After all, I didn’t want them to kick me out, thinking I was a bum who’d just found the voucher lying in the street!
I even cancelled my Thursday night plans so that I wouldn’t end up staying out too late and looking like a beast with red eyes and dull skin. My friends thought I was taking it a bit far, but it’s like, what do they know? THEY didn’t have Glitterati to contend with, now did they?
At any rate, I was too nervous to sleep. Then, after (finally) drifting off, I woke up at 3 am, sick with anticipation. I couldn’t get back to sleep, so I decided to do something constructive. Eight hours later, I woke up with a start, feeling worse than I’d ever felt before. My muscles were in knots, I had a bigger crick in my neck than I’d thought possible, AND my entire face hurt, for some reason. The reason was soon obvious:
I had fallen asleep whilst trimming my cuticles, and was missing part of one. A glance in the mirror told me that not only had I gone overboard in “shaping up” my brows, I still had a mud and seaweed masque on my skin. And if that weren’t enough, some had gotten in my eyes. And in my carefully-set hair.
As you can imagine, it took the better part of 3 hours to remove the mess, and another hour to reverse the damage. I’m not even going to mention how some mud got on the sleeve of the suit jacket I had planned to wear.
But I will tell you that Fate was kind, and it was only a little after 3 pm when I hopped on the bus, intent on making my diamond dreams come true.
Surprisingly enough, the trip to Glitterati passed without incident. Then, we arrived.
I stepped, dreamlike, from the bus, and made my way to the glittering glass gateway, checking to make sure I hadn’t forgotten my purse on the bus, but my luck still held.
A tall, uniformed security guard opened the gate, twinkling at me, and I gave a faint nod in his general direction, not bothering to even notice what colour his eyes were.
And then, there I stood, in the hallowed store, on the fabled threshold of the Ring Room. Another, shorter guard greeted me, his face almost identical to the other (did they all look the same??), and asked for my voucher. I paid slightly more attention to this man, since I hadn’t gotten my ring yet.
I unzipped my bag. Nothing.
“Is there a problem, miss?”
My breath froze in my throat, and my heart and stomach slammed into my mouth with a nauseating force.
“I... it’s in my other purse,” I whispered, dejected. I began to shuffle in the other direction, mentally kicking myself so hard that I would not have been surprised to see my blood seeping out redly from beneath bruised and tattered skin.
A hand at my wrist...
“It’s ok, lassie, come with me.” He said my name and put a guiding hand on the small of my back. I shivered at his sudden touch, but more so at the fact that he had known my name.
“And so, on the recognisance of your face, I present you with... the Ring Room!”
My breath held. What kind of stalkers were they, to know my name and face?
He must’ve sensed my apprehension, because he leaned in to my ear and whispered, “It’s ok, forget about everything but making your choice. Every ring is worth exactly the same, is equally comfortable, and is made with only the purest metal and most costly of stones. All you have to do is choose the one that pleases you best.”
His breath was cool and minty on my skin, and somewhat refreshing. In a move that would have mortified my mother (and me, had I been rational at the time), I swivelled my head slowly, focusing on his sparkling eyes so close to mine.
A gentle push at my back, and he leaned in closer. “Choose well, you’re gonna have to live with it...”
My eyes closed automatically, and I savoured the unexpected, langourous and ethereal sensation that crept through my veins. I knew a sudden desire to throw myself into his arms and forget about the ring.
When my hands met thin air and then each other, my eyes opened, and I sighed. I was all alone in the hallway. So much for getting sidetracked...
I entered the room, which was smaller than I’d imagined; after all, didn’t Glitterati carry every single type of ring in the whole world?
I made a beeline for the nearest glass counter, and began looking. The rings here were all very traditional and classic, the type of rings that they sold everywhere, and that 60% of the women in the free world probably owned.
I quickly moved on to another case, this one featuring rings made of metal only. The next case had rings bedecked with diamonds and brilliant center stones of every colour and shape. And then came the pearl rings, the Art Deco rings, and the “Avant Garde” rings that I couldn’t imagine wearing more than once.
The final case held beautiful (albeit offbeat) creations, some harmonious and light-filled, others dark and unsettling, despite their seductive allure.
“Hard to choose just one, isn’t it?”
A golden voice came from nowhere, and I knew a momentary fear that dried my mouth with frightening speed.
A polite but unearthly face materialised before my eyes. “Here. Put all the ones you like in here,” he said, holding out a velvet-lined tray.
Still a bit shaken by his too-sudden appearance, I pointed out a classic Jacquie O type ring in white gold, then an artsy neo-Etruscan number that was so odd it was classic, and several others with stones that matched my eyes.
“All excellent choices, miss..” he said in that metallic, drifty voice.
“Thanks.. but that’s the problem! I’m in love with half of them, how will I ever choose just one?” I asked him, only half-joking.
He gave the sort of smile that salesmen used to dealing with millionaires usually give to their less-exalted clientele, a pitying “Don’t you wish!” look.
“Any advice?” I tried again, aware that my pedigree was showing, but uncaring now.
“Well, pick something that you really love, I guess I can say,” he began. He offered me the tray, and I started sorting the rings into piles. He stepped back and became part of the discreet, albeit flocked metallic and gold wallpaper.
“Hmm... I have lots of Avant Garde stuff, so maybe I should focus on the classic counter..”
“Why?” he asked, reminding me of his presence.
“Oh, well, so that I can get a ring from you that I don’t have. It would be silly of me to double up, right?”
A frown fell across his privileged face.
“Didn’t you know? You can’t wear any other rings after this one...”
My face contorted in disbelief as the knowledge hit me.
4:35.
Closing time loomed above me, sideswiped me, and seemed to be pushing me into a quick decision.
“You know, you COULD always come back here tomorrow,” the man suggested.
“But I thought it was today only?”
“Well, today is the only day that you’re guaranteed whatever model you want. Theoretically, however, you COULD always just go outside, read a magazine, check the trends on Home Shopping Network and come back tomorrow. Theoretically, you can come back in a year. There’s no limit. Well, except for the fact that there’s the chance that someone could swipe the ring that you want. These rings here are the only ones we have, and we only order once every 80 or so years.”
A breath fell from my lips, heavy as though it were weighed down by a chunk of lead, but my chest didn’t feel any lighter for having dropped it.
He blended with the wallpaper again, and I began to shop in earnest.
It wasn’t that I couldn’t find anything I didn’t like—I liked them all! But every time I saw something nice, every time I admired the newest ring on my finger, I wondered if another ring were more vibrant in colour, more sparkly, more valuable. Would I regret my choice later? Would I see another lady’s ring and start drooling over it? Was ‘level of sparkliness’ even an important factor to consider? I knew it was for me, anyway.
The lights seemed to flicker a few times, but I was intent on my task, and confident that my mind would not only be made up, but made up to great effect, once the ghostly scare-atron signaled closing time.
Speaking of the scare, where was he, anyway? Maybe he could rustle up some Chicken In a Biskit and Spray Cheese for me to snack on in my last few minutes, for hunger had suddenly washed over me, leaving me very slightly dizzy.
I looked all over the place, but nothing.
Incidentally, I was still holding an amethyst ring as I began my search, and it was a model that I wouldn’t have been depressed to wear for another 50 years.
Then, I heard my name being called, far-away and echoey-like.
“I’m here! Where are you?” I asked, throwing my voice as far as it would go. A much-nearer voice said “Don’t forget your ring! If you step out of here without it, your voucher is forfeit for having been used up!”
It was the security guard, only he looked different. Older, somehow.
His eyes glimmered at me, and I set down the Jacquie O ring, feeling suddenly nostalgic for an emerald creation that seemed to have disappeared.
“Where’s that other ring??” I asked Mr. Security.
“Someone got it,” he said, rather circumspectly.
I sighed, and went back to the amethyst ring I had set down. Thank God it was still there! Unfortunately, though, a diamond seemed to have fallen loose in the moment I had looked elsewhere. I gasped, then jammed it on my finger, forcing it when it stuck.
As soon as the bit of metal hit home, my legs felt strangely restless, and walked me over to the door, as though driven by remote control.
I materialised under the awning of Glitterati, and started walking, trancelike, towards the bus. In my unearthly rush, I slammed into two vaguely pretty women who hadn’t aged very well. They were fighting over something, and I couldn’t help overhearing the discussion.
“I just couldn’t do it, I couldn’t choose one if it meant everyone else was off limits!”
“But don’t you see, at least if you had chosen one to begin with, it would have grown on you. Now you’re stuck without one!”
“Better without one than stuck with a bad one!”
“What if you waited for one that ended up being taken by someone else, and the replacement you chose broke while you were off chasing greener pastures? What then?”
The ladies looked a bit put-off by my injection into their conversation, but the shorter one adopted a kinder expression and took my hand in hers, examining my new ring.
“Ahh, what a beauty this was, once. Don’t abandon it now just because it looks a bit different than the one you picked out all those years ago...”
My face fell, and my words came out in a small voice I’d never heard issuing from my throat. “But it wasn’t years ago, I just picked it out now. I took too long making my choice. And now I’m stuck with junk.”
I could feel tears gathering behind my eyes, and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that my nose was growing unbecomingly pink.
“No, that’s not true! That’s a beautiful and valuable center stone you have there, and thank God Almighty that it’s not cracked! Ok, so you’re missing a diamond or two. You might be able to get them replaced, and if not, you’re still ahead of the game. At least you have a ring,” she finished, trailing off a bit at the end. I pointedly avoided looking at her bare hands.
Her friend, who had been listening intently, now offered her hand for my inspection. I tried not to gasp as I realised she was missing a finger.
“Better to avoid the whole mess than to choose the wrong one. Unless you’re woman enough to be happy and enjoy life despite missing something.”
Surprisingly enough, the lady didn’t seem at all upset that she was missing an entire digit. She waggled her remaining fingers at me and winked.
“But I don’t get why you lost a finger. Does it have to do with the ring?”
The shorter lady came back to life. “Yes, dearie. Every time you put a ring on, you run the risk that it won’t come off, or at least, not without a fight. See, you lose a part of yourself every time you put a ring on, whether you’re trying it on in the store, or whether you take it home for good. Or what you think is forever, anyway...”
“And darned if I would let a little thing like permanence and loyalty get in the way of who I am. I would rather be minus a finger than plus a warped or unstable stone. Hmph!”
I beamed at her, for some reason, glad that she was OK with the way things were.
“And so,” began the more petite—and sedate—woman, “make sure to consider all the options—so as to avoid grabbing the first interesting ring that catches your eye.. but don’t take centuries doing so, or you might be out in the cold, ringless.”
I looked sadly at the ring I had chosen, on the rebound and in a rush because of the impending time constraints. But she smiled.
“All is not lost! You should always make the best of what you’ve chosen, even if it’s not what you would have chosen now. Just because you might have days—or years—where you wish you had chosen an opal rather than an amethyst, it doesn’t mean that you should abandon the poor amethyst! You don’t have to feel fireworks and rockets every time you look at your hand and see that purple rock. In fact, I can guarantee that you won’t. But. If the amethyst is trying its darndest to be a good ring, then why would you complain or try to take it off? Unless, of course, it grows teeth and bites your hand.”
I laughed at the wacky lady and her wisdom-filled words, and gave her an impulsive hug. The other lady joined in and made it a group hug, and I smiled again. I turned to go, totally forgetting that I needed to take the bus they had just boarded, too!
I whirled around again, sighing in frustration, when something knocked me clean off my feet. I found myself lying on the pavement, staring into the sun. I let my eyes close, and just lay there for a moment, gathering my bearings before even thinking about getting up.
“Miss? Are you ok? Here, let me help you up. I’m so sorry! Are you ok??”
I felt a large hand close over my own, and tried to place the man’s voice. I opened my eyes again, but it wasn’t the sun that stared down at me. It was the security guard, but he was dressed differently. He was very strong, and I was afraid that this strong grip on my hand would jar some other diamonds loose from my poor ring, but when I was upright again and had let go of his warm hand, I couldn’t find my ring anywhere. I was heartsick... to lose it after the hullabaloo would be horrid and beastly, to say the least.
I looked up at him, catching a whiff of some heavenly aftershave he was wearing, and met his eyes squarely. What I saw there made me gasp. My knees buckled, but he scooped me up and started marching to a car parked illegally by the curb. I didn’t even protest. I was too busy staring at his purple, sparkling, eyes...
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