VD

[feldman]

I hate DeBeers. I hate them with the smoky burning nauseating passion of a deep fryer grease fire. I hate them because they deface the institution of marriage, mouthing a romantic line while casting it as some kind of bad economic exchange wherein the man pays in painfully overpriced jewelry and the woman offers the service of not being disappointed in him.

DeBeers would like you to believe that, as a married woman, I'm waiting around for my husband to finally come across with the diamonds. They want you to believe that I'm slowly dying inside, consumed with doubt about whether I made the right decision lo those years back, and that this angst can only be appeased by converting two months worth of Mr. F's paychecks into something sparkly for me to lose in a public restroom or state park. They would like you to believe that, while I may sleep with him on occasion, punctual gifts of jewelry on certain days and occasions are what foster true enthusiasm for the activity and for him.

DeBeers wants you to believe that the diamond-studded path to a woman's heart is an ancient tradition, and not a marketing ploy that began in the early 20th century. DeBeers feels that if you dress it up with WASPS and a string quartet, you're not really selling the idea of prostitution.

Fuck DeBeers.

I own two diamond rings. One is the wedding set of Mr. F's grandparents, who were together nearly fifty years. His grandfather died a few years after his grandmother, because it took that long for his broken heart to finally defeat his sturdy constitution. This had nothing to do with the lovely art nouveau style ring with the microscopic diamond chip that she wore. The other is my own grandmother's engagement ring--she gave it to me on the day I married Mr. F, and long story short, it means much more to Grandma and me in that context than in it's original use at her own long-dissolved marriage.

Love is expressed by the things people do for each other. Love is personal, individual, imbedded in context. As a married woman, I assure you, diamonds make me neither hot, nor bothered, nor sentimentally-predisposed toward my spouse. A gift of diamond jewelry would probably make me angry (cause dude, that's tuition) and concerned about possible overlooked head injuries.

You know what really turns my stomach? The one ad where, once she's been given the goods, she hugs her husband and caresses his head and whispers "I love this man, I love him." This makes me want to cry, because how can this gift of affection from her be worth anything if it has to be pried out like that? Has she never done that for him before--held him close and told him she loves him? How badly are some husbands faring in their marriages, that they're willing to fork over thousands of dollars for the chance that they'll be treated like someone who's loved?

I mean, I've gotten that emotional over Mr. F making dinner. You know why? Because I love the guy and we take care of each other, and that's a persistant miracle. It happens nearly every day that one of us lets the other know that they're appreciated and loved. And yeah, it's sappy. But it's born of two folks who realize they're lucky to have found each other, and who think that love is what you do.

And DeBeers can go to hell for trying to cheapen that just because we happen to be married.

Comments

[simplystars.livejournal.com]

Kinda like this (http://www.svalka.com.ru/21.10.2003/2) series of pics from a Russian blog I stumbled across? The first few are bad enough, but the last...

Oy. I was so mad I literally saw red.

[rubberneck.livejournal.com]

Yeah. About that. *clutches head as paroxysm of rage and sadness grips soul* Of all the things my mother taught me about being female, about being a good person, none of them applies to that kind of exchange.