I tried on an engagement ring.

Now before you start squeeing and jumping around, let me just clarify that it was not with Michael and it was at work.


My coworker (and fellow blogger) Anna, has hopped on the Let’s Get Molly Engaged train. Yesterday she sat down in my office and asked me if I had showed Michael what kinds of rings I like (yes) and whether or not I’ve tried on all the rings of my married and engaged friends.

I had to think about it for a second but then realized, no, I hadn’t. Maybe one but I feel weird asking women to take off their rock so I can put it on my finger and daydream about being Mrs. Michael.

As soon as I said that, good old young Anna pulled her gorgeous three-stone engagement ring off and handed it to me.

It fit perfectly. (“Five and a half!” she said.) And I was shocked by the what the weight of a real ring feels like. The heaviness of diamonds and platinum translated instantly into the overwhelming desire to have that commitment on my finger forever.

I moved my hand back and forth, letting the diamonds catch the light as I pictured what it will be like to have my own. Then I gave it back, because just a few minutes longer and Anna would have been chasing me down the street as I manically ran away screaming, “I got one! I got one!”

Last night over the all-American meal of steak and potatoes (I mean really, I should have been wearing an apron and heels), I told Michael about the ring. How I loved the way it felt. How I wanted one of my own.

This time I couldn’t read his smile. Did it mean, “oh you silly girl, it’s right around the corner and you don’t even know it”?

I really, really hope so.

PS- While the cat’s away, the mouse will write on his blog. Check out my guest post over at I Got Nothin’