Lauren's fingers are not much thicker than her finger bones.
Her phalanges if you will.
But no thank you.
I won't.
"Phalanges" sounds too much like "phallus angina".
Or "Challenger phallus".
Or "phailure vagina".
So finger bones.
The diamonder and Facebook and I estimated her ring size at 4 ½.
This is the size of a diminutive witch's finger.
But we were wrong.
She's like a 3 ⅞.
The size of a diminutive witch's assistant's finger.
So the ring's been with the diamondist all week getting shrunken down.
Yesterday I received word that it was ready.
The diamond shop would open at 10:30.
I woke up Lauren.
We watched the season finale of Project Runway.
I drank a bottle of wine.
I yelled at the television.
The results were not to my liking.
But the wine helped put things in perspective.
".. • ¡MONDooo! 〪〫• .. Gʁet©hen ¿! 〪•〬 ♫ Andyyy♪☕.."
Lauren drove her dumb fiancé to the diamond mart.
The sun was being all gay and shiny.
Like it doesn't get enough attention already.
He squinted and scowled.
It was a Friday mid-day in Lincoln Square.
The professional mommies prowled Lincoln Avenue with their strollers.
Lauren's dumb fiancé yelled about them.
"Look at meee! I married a lawyer and we had sex! Congratulations to meee!!"
He riffed on the fumes of this bit.
Lauren pointed out that some of their friends were "these people".
"Yeah, but they're not like that!" he countered.
He knew he was being a jerk but was too loaded to figure out how to stop being one.
Lauren and her dumb fiancé entered the diamonderia.
He left his sunglasses on.
His cheap women's supermarket sunglasses.
He grinned a bunch.
His lips were stained purple.
He wobbled.
This was not the same man who had purchased the ring.
Lauren was happy to get it back.
It almost fit.
Still a little too loose.
Maybe she's a 2⅚.
The size of a diminutive witch's ventriloquist doll's finger.
Oh no.
Maybe that's what Lauren will do.
Make a ventriloquist doll of me.
And use it to punish me when I get drunk like this.
She'll chase me around the apartment with it, having it point out my faults and failures, maniacally humming Jan & Dean songs, hatching little ventriloquist doll babies with little strollers to push around Lincoln Square, and then a 40 foot tall ventriloquist doll version of me will drunkenly mock me from a UFO shaped like an $8 bottle of wine, which will hover above and piss red on me until I drown, and...
sleep for 16 hours.
Verdict: Loss
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