For my 18th birthday I received my first pair of diamond earrings. They were a gift from my boyfriend, (his father was a jeweler), and the .25 carat stones were considered “perfect.” I loved those earrings years longer than I loved that boyfriend.
4 or 5 years after I was given those studs, I lost one. I was in a hotel in the Soviet Union, maybe Moscow, and realized that one was missing from my ear. My (different) boyfriend and I crawled around on the communist quality carpeting looking in vain for the small earring. I grew impatient and gave up, consoling myself with the thought of the housekeeper finding it and somehow using it to improve her
life day by buying goods which were only available to residents with “hard currency.”
Andy, who never was one to abandon hope, found the earring a few minutes later. I still have that pair of earrings.
Years later, I was given a new pair of diamond solitaire earrings. These were a bit more sizable and I wore them all the time. They, as all diamonds do, went with everything and gave me an accessory that was timelessly beautiful. The day I reached up to my earlobe and found one of those earrings missing was a very dark day indeed. I felt really sad and somehow incomplete without the earrings that I believed gave me, in a weird way, status. Within a short period of time, the earring was replaced, with an improvement – screw backs.
Friday, on my way home from the golf course, it happened again. My hand went to my earlobe to absentmindedly spin the posts in my ears and there was one missing. I had again lost one of my diamond studs. My immediate response was physical – a sinking in my stomach and an increase in my heartrate. This sucked. I quickly tried to mentally replay my day and speculate about when and where it may have gone missing. I came up with some possibilities which demanded exploration.
I started with the car. Nothing. At home, I undressed carefully hoping the earring was somehow attached to me. No. I crawled around my bedroom floor, feeling the rug with my hands in hopes of coming across the errant earring. No dice. Or ice. I felt myself growing upset over the loss but reeled it in pretty quickly. It was an earring, one which had been worn with enjoyment many, many times. In the big picture, it really wasn’t that important. Not everything we love is forever.
To feel that I’ve made a fair effort, there are a couple of additional spots I still want to look when I’m back at work, but, if it’s gone, it’s gone. I’m thinking maybe I’m just not supposed to have a pair of diamond stud earrings. Maybe I’m more a diamond solitaire necklace girl.
One thought on “Down a stud. Again.”