60 Minutes of Bling

Although my sister has been wearing her wedding ring for a year now, I still catch myself wanting to steal it off of her finger. Last Saturday morning was no exception. As we dined on waffles for her birthday breakfast, those facets taunted me all meal long as this year-long memory came to mind.

* * *

Libby had been sending me text messages for 45 min. straight. "Where are you?" "Who's viewing?" "Didn't you just go to a viewing?" "Come get me from class." "I'm bored." "Where's mom?" "How does she know this person?" "Where are you in the line?" And then...the clincher..."If you come get me in the next 30 minutes, you can wear my ring for one hour."

* * *

At this point you're probably thinking I am most blatantly rude and/or irreverent. However, let me give you more details. Libby had been running a fever Sunday, Monday and part of Tuesday. So, her initial "Come get me from class" text had my mother worried. I answered Libby's plea and told her I would come as soon as I could. I did this before I got to a place in the line where it would have been inappropriate. I then ignored the rest of the text message.

* * *

Although I came to the viewing to see ___, I didn't want to step out of the line before I got all the way through it. Well, I did want to, but I thought it would be a little awkward. So, I stayed at my mother's side until she had relayed my Grandparent's condolences.

As the two of us were walking towards our separate cars, I read the rest of Libby's text messages. All five! But it was the last one that had me running to my car to speed up South Temple. The "you-can-wear-my-ring" message. Now this was truly a reason to speed! Totally justified. I mean, poor Libby was sick, right? In dire need of a rescue-ride home. Me to the rescue! Bless my V6 engine! I pulled into the parking lot right in front of the UMFA. There it was. I mean, there she was. Libby managed to get her strep-infected body into the car. I more than managed a "gimme! gimme! gimme!" Libby: "Are you serious?" Me: " Uh (short pause) yeah!" followed by another round of the "gimme gimme gimme" hand motions. "Martha, I was only kidding." She said it as if it was funny. This was anything but an occasion that would have merited a chuckle. "You thought I was serious?" "Uh, yeah. Why do you think I got here so fast?!" Libby: "You didn't get here fast. It took you 40 minutes. I said if you got here in thir..." I rudely, but rightfully interrupted, "Hello! I was in a funeral line! It's not like I could bust out my cell phone and read the 'frillion text messages you kept sending! I came as fast as I could. As soon as I got your message about the ring!"

As you can imagine, Libby was in hysterics over my hysteria. She handed it over to me and I put it on my finger, as if it belonged there all along. As if she were the culprit of this misdeed. We drove around the round-about by the stadium, the street lights adding just enough light to make those diamonds project sparkles onto the windshield. We came to the corner of Guardsman and Sunnyside. I watched the ring at every angle as I turned the steering wheel. Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant! T minus 57 minutes.

"Okay. Give it back to me now," came the request from the passenger's seat. "What?! It's only been two minutes. You said I had an hour!" She laughed. It was the only thing she could do. According to Libby, she had never seen such behavior. It was out of the ordinary and "totally hilarious." I wasn't laughing. "I don't get it. What's the point in wearing someone else's ring? You just have to give it back anyway." Is she human?! Wait. Yes, human, and Is she a woman?! "First of all, you STOLE my ring design." I didn't just go there. Yup. I did. And I was going to continue. "Then you tell me that I can wear your ring for an hour only to take it back after three lousy minutes?! You are so selfish." In all my furry, I took the ring off my finger, said "It's a good thing this baby's strong!" and pretended to chuck it at the windshield. Then, realizing that it would do more damage to my windshield instead of the other way around, I put it back on my finger. (At this point, I also felt like I was about seven years old. But, somehow, it didn't stop me).

Then, then came the comments that I really wasn't going to make. The place I really wasn't going to go. But, I was in hysterics. Dire straights. Between a rock, well, in this case, rocks-plural since Libby decided to fore go a solitaire, and a hard place. Alone in Sigledom. And I wasn't about to back down. The sinister inside me smiled as I snidely went on, "Libby, you don't get it, do you?! This may never happen for me! I turn 25 in exactly nine days. NINE days! And there isn't a boy in sight. No one is even on the horizon. For crying out loud in the dark, let me have this one moment. One MOMENT !" I ended in what was nearly a shout and glanced over suspecting her to cave at any moment. Silence. This was it. Triumph! My hour to shine. Literally. Well, hour minus 4 minutes. We approached 1900 East.

My no-longer-single sister broke the silence with what can only be described as a "she's-lost-it" giggle. An honest to goodness "she's-my-25-year-old-sister-and-she's-lost-it" guffaw. "You cannot be serious!" I gave her the eye. "Martha, this is hilarious. I can't wait to tell D. about this!" Miss Martha 7-year-old, "Fine. See if I care!" My rebuttal was interrupted by Libby's cell phone. I was relieved, seeing as I didn't have anything else to go off of.

It was Trent. They exchanged pleasantries and then Libby began to explain the situation at hand (no pun intended) laughing harder and harder the further she got into the story. She hung up and explained that Trent was at our house. "What exactly were you planning to do with my ring?" "Oh, just every day things like, write emails, do the dishes..." I could have gone on. I was beginning to lose my edge. "What does it matter?! You said one! hour!" Libby was practically crying at this point. No, not tears of separation, rather, tears of sheer joy. Apparently she thought this was funny. Entertaining. Amusing. So did Trent, as was evident when he laughed upon the sight of me as I entered the kitchen.

I didn't care. Libby and Trent were decidedly poking fun and telling me "(They'd) never seen anything like this!" My mom came after hearing all the commotion. Bless my angel mother! She was on my side! "Oh, just let her wear it!" Aha! An ally. An not just any ally, but an authoritative ally at that!

I turned, put my hands on my hips, and, with a "Ha!" and a foot stomp in Libby's direction, I set the timer. 45 minutes. 45 glorious minutes! I couldn't wait to dive right into everyday activities with a little "somethin'-somethin'" on my finger. Then, the announcement: My father wasn't coming home and we were to go out to eat. Now, this could have presented a problem. Possibly an issue. Would Libby want the ring back? Or, worse: what if I saw someone I knew and they asked if I was engaged?! Would I have to explain it all to them? And, would they understand? I don't think the whole "Don't-you-get-it/This-may-never-happen-to-me" drama-filled tantrum would fly.

Or...Best case scenario...A night out on the town with a ring on my finger!!! Now, this is not everyday, but I'll take it!

My mind was spinning as Trent, Richard and Libby discussed possible dinner locations. Nothing was uttered about the ring as we got into the car. I said nothing. Did nothing, except glance down at my hand about 12 times a minute. It looked glorious! It was my ring design, after all. Then, the dining decision. This was crucial. It would set the stage for my last 42 minutes of glory.

"Arby's? (pause) Sure," came Libby's voice from the front seat. Arby's?! Are you kidding me?! Arby's?! I'm blingin' and you're thinking Arby's?! You've got to be kidding me.

Indeed this is sad to report, but my night of Bling With My Sister's Ring was spent flashing the "Sorry, Boys, I'm Taken" signal at the employees of Arby's. Not exactly what I had in mind when I high-tailed it to the U of U that night. I'll be honest, though. It did look stunning on my hand. Stunning indeed. So, if you're in the mood for a diamond test-drive, you know where to come for excellent advice. Just know, it will cost you - the gas from South Temple to the University of Utah Museum of Fine Arts. But, believe you-me, it's worth all that and an Arby's shake!