Hey guys, Joe has expressed interest in continuously loving me until the day he dies.
I love antiques and probably bookmarked a hundred rings that I loved, but he went off the grid and found this one on his own. I couldn’t love it anymore, even if I had a secret hinged compartment to store my drugs. Not like street crank or anything, but maybe like fancy old lady heart pills or something. He could check his pocket watch and be all: “baby, it’s 4:00, time for your blood pressure pill”. And I’d just snort it straight off my finger with a fancy, 24k gold gilded straw I keep in my brazier.
Alas, it is but a simple ring. One that I couldn’t possibly be anymore in love with unless it was the person who put it on my finger.
The romantic obsession I have with everything vintage is history. Maybe it wasn’t pulled from the water logged finger of a victim from the Titanic, but,
MAYBE IT WAS.
It took me months of hard mouse clicking to finally find the perfect ring. Keeping a secret like that from the person you love most in the world is torture, but when I was kneeling in front of her, ring box in hand, with her fist half way through my chest and her “SHUT UP”s coursing throughout my eardrums, it all became worth it.
Me: *opens ring box*
Her: *punches me in chest*
Her: SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP.
Her *second blow to chest*
Her: SHUT UP!
Me: Is that a yes?
Her: That’s a yes.