So I picked my engagement ring up from the jeweler's Tuesday after getting it sized. (A seven down to a five--all that cheesecake and short rib I eat at work hasn't fattened my fingers, apparently.) The ring looked and felt so great and I wore it all day. Well, someone must have forgotten to readjust the settings, because somewhere along the way one of the accent diamonds fell out and left a big, gaping hole.
I got irrationally scared to go with Sarah to take the ring back to Zales. I guess I was afraid the repair wouldn't be covered by the warranty and we'd have to argue, or that they'd think we were trying to scam them, or that they'd scoff at us because we didn't buy the Kohinoor. Or worst of all, that they wouldn't be able to fix it and I'd have to return it and look for another ring when I like this one so much.
Sarah ended up going by herself, and of course, there was no problem at all. My customer service nightmares did not come true. They took the ring, apologized profusely, and promised to have it fixed and back in my hands as soon as possible.
And fittingly enough, the whole situation helped remind me of yet another reason I want to marry Sarah: She's damn good in a crisis. Especially a Michi microcrisis. Usually I'm pretty rational, but sometimes a stupid little problem just completely derails me. Then she's there to scoop me up, dust me off, and fix everything before I even know what happened, all without making me feel silly. I love you, Sarah.
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