Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Death of a Jeweler.


So, I had to take my fabulous new ring to the jeweler to be resized because if I try to wear a seven on either of my ring fingers it will inevitably fall off.  

When I have jewelry sizing needs (and let’s face it, since most of my rings need to be a 5.5 or 6 and all the ones I like are for some reason a 7, this happens a lot) I like to go to my parents’ jeweler.  There are a few reasons why I do this.

1)  I like to support small business as often as I can.  Unless small business is trying to ass rape me.  In which case I choose the cheapest place with the most decent product.  In this case, the small business support really works for me.

2)  This particular jeweler actually constructed my mom’s wedding ring, using her engagement ring and another ring.  (My dad had the new ring made because her original wedding ring was stolen.)  It is fabulous.  I’ve never seen another like it and I’ve been in love with it since I was little.

3)  I usually get a discount because my parents have been going to this guy for, like, 20 years.

I took my shiny new ring in and he determined that he would be able to resize it without taking the stone out (awesome) and it would be pretty inexpensive.  Yay!

He started talking about how he remembered my name and the association with my parents, but couldn’t remember what I looked like the last time I came in.  I told him it was because the last time I was in (also to get a ring resized) I was about 50 pounds heavier and had longer, very straight hair.

This was about the point at which I remembered the dude is kind of a creeper and I should have just not said anything.

But it was already too late.

I was running errands in my comfy “dyke jeans,” a plain t-shirt, and some vans.  He checked me out and told me I needed to wear some tighter-fitting jeans to show off the weight I lost (I’m sorry I don’t feel like a denim rape session every single day, awkward jeweler).

Then, he almost died.

Seriously.

Because I almost killed him with my bare hands.

Instead of just stopping there and not continuing his downward spiral of idiocy, awkward jeweler said this:  “You could be one of those girls…  Who models…  You know, for like bigger girls…  You know what I mean?  …Like, plus size models or something…  ‘Cause your face is pretty enough to be a model…”

Then an anvil fell on his head, just like Wiley Coyote in the Road Runner cartoons.

Okay, maybe I just imagined that last part.  

But seriously, he is dead to me.

Until later when I go pick up my ring.  

For that, I might need to put on some baggy, raggy, dirty sweatpants.

6 comments:

  1. What the hell is wrong with that guy? I would have at least kicked him in his jewels and ran. What a douche bag. You are clearly not fat and in my opinion are very normally sized. People say mean things, but you were a customer. The relationship there is rather different. Even if you were not a customer, women can very sensitive about their weight. He should have known better.

    Honestly you are not even close to being considered plus sized. That guy must be an idiot. Not only are his observations wrong, but he is rude. Maybe the guy is some sick pervert who has a thing for large sized women. "Was she a great big fat person?" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EHyadlNZnDY

    And hell even if he said this to you and actually were fat. Some women wear their weight quite well. So fuck him.

    Kudos on the shoes. I also wear vans shoes, they really are comfortable. I enjoy buying from the discount Vans store in Anderson.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Lol fabulous response, SD. Thank you. I think he was trying to say I was pretty enough to be a model, but too curvaceous. Still, he's a creeper and it was an insensitive dick move. I don't know if my favorite part was when he asked my age, then said that it was okay for him to say these things to me or if it was the full five minutes he spent trying to make it seem less awkward and horrific that he had basically and inadvertently called me fat. I'm honestly starting to think I need a button or a warning label or something that says, "I'm not into guys my dad's age hitting on me."

    Thanks. :) I pretty much wear everything. I'd forgotten I had Vans and was super stoked to find them in my closet. I need some new ones, though. These are at least eight years old.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Patty, has anyone told you lately how completely and utterly fantastic you are?

    ReplyDelete
  4. Lol, thanks! I have found you to be pretty fantastic too. :)

    ReplyDelete