Post-divorce, I Had a Big Problem — A Feral Moment of Insanity Solved It

There were many hard things I knew I’d have to do in a divorce. Selling the wedding rings for extra cash would be one of the easy things… or so I thought. 

My ex and I attempted to sell the rings together at a jewelry store a block from our apartment in Minnesota. In addition to our wedding bands, I also brought a pair of diamond earrings and a small diamond band to sell. The earrings were a present the first Christmas we were together. He gave me the band on my 27th birthday, my first birthday after we were married. After the first year of marriage, he never gave me another piece of jewelry. 

We hoped to get around fifty percent of what he had paid for my ring, but the jeweler warned us that princess-cut diamonds were out of style. 

How does a 1-carat hunk of precious stone go out of style? Aren’t diamonds for forever?

The jeweler offered a pittance. As a consolation, he suggested we try Facebook Market Place.

“You might get more!” he said enthusiastically. 

When I moved to Florida in April 2021, the wedding bands ended up coming with me. Maybe the diamond market would be different? After many phone calls ending in “No, thanks. We’re not interested,” I finally found a place willing to look at the rings.

Siri guided me to a six-story concrete rectangle. The inside of the building was poorly lit and dingy. Something about it seemed so very Florida to me.  As a Midwest transplant, I quickly learned Florida’s quirks, like its penchant for strip malls and grimy office buildings.  

The jeweler’s suite door was locked so I rang the doorbell.  A man, about my age, opened the door. The guy I talked to on the phone sounded much older. He also had an accent. I didn’t expect him to look as young (and maybe cute?) as he did. It was hard to tell because he had a mask on. 

“Hi! I’m David. I understand you spoke to my father and have some jewelry for us to look at.” 

Not the dude from the phone. 

“My dad’s on the phone with my brother right now, but he should be done soon. My brother’s up in New York,” he said as he turned to go back into the room, gesturing for me to follow him. I noticed the kippah on his head.

New York and Jewish — like 95% of the people I’ve met in Florida. Is anyone in Florida, actually from Florida?

As I walked into the room, I felt like I was walking into the movie War Dogs. A dark and shitty closet turned into an office. Instead of Jonah Hill and Miles Teller sitting at the two desks in front of me, it was Chaim and David.

While Chaim talked on the phone, David busied himself with studying my ring and making small talk with me. I busied myself wondering what David would look like without his mask. I glanced around the room. Bingo. A family picture. 

Cute smile.  

Chaim was off the phone, interrupting me before I decided which of his sons was the hot one. He switched spots with David and picked up my diamond. Meticulously, turning the ring this way and that, holding it under the light, waving his magnifying eyeglass thingy up and down. Whenever a feature caught his eye, Chaim nudged David with his elbow. 

“You see that right there? Hmm. You see the crown? It’s not as nice as this one.” Chaim pointed to another ring on his desk. David leaned back and forth, first looking at the other ring then back to mine.

“Hmm.” David nodded in agreement with this father. 

A twingey, ick sensation built in my stomach. There were no magnifying lenses or harsh lights glaring down on my flaws, yet I felt like I was being examined. 

He thinks my ring is shit. 

The thing that symbolized my marriage, nine years of my life, and Chaim couldn’t be any less impressed. Could I blame him?

The pain of the wasted years hit me. Tears stung my eyes. I sucked my teeth in vain to try to stop the tears. Dad taught me that trick at my wedding. When I walked out to meet him to take me down the aisle, we looked at each other and both started crying.

“Suck your teeth, baby. That’ll make the tears stop.” 

The teeth-sucking worked then, but it wasn’t working now. I was thankful for the mask hiding the red splotchiness that covered my face anytime I cried. The mask couldn’t hide the pain in my eyes. I turned my face away from Chaim and David, hoping they were too engrossed in their examination to notice me falling apart. I clenched my hands together. I tried to give myself a pep talk. 

You didn’t waste nine years! You learned so much! You grew! I dug my nails into my palm, trying to make a new pain to distract me from the agony gripping my heart. Then why does it all feel so fucking useless?

This ring was like a bad penny. If they wouldn’t buy it, what would I do with it? Keep it, so every few months or so I could find it in my drawer to be reminded of my failed marriage? Hold it in my fingers while I cried, looking at that little black dot on the side of the diamond. My ex-husband had pointed it out when he gave it to me.

“I looked at one stone and it was completely clear but this one,” he pointed emphatically at the stone. “This one played big.” He had a satisfied smile on his face. 

“I don’t mind the black dot.” I flashed a big hopeful smile. “It’s a good reminder marriage isn’t perfect, right, honey?”  

Somehow over the last nine years, my diamond’s black dot made its mark on me. It wasn’t just a dot anymore. It was a black hole, eating away at me, leaving me hollow. The emptiness was starting to swallow me completely as Chaim’s disinterest in my diamond became more apparent with each lip purse and “hmmph” he made. 

Get it together, Claire. C’mon. 

I needed a plan to deal with the tainted diamond. A plan that wouldn’t require me to go through this ordeal again.

I know what I’ll do. 

A cocky smirk played at the corner of my lips as I devised my plan. 

I would buy a bottle of Veuve Clicquot. I would get a pizza. The pizza would be sausage, onions, and olives— on the whole, damn thing. Not just half like when I was married. And I could eat my olives without hearing about how disgusting they were. 

Fuck it. I’ll get extra olives. Green and black.  All the olives for me!

My Veuve, my pizza, and my cursed rock would go to the beach with my dog, Bari, in tow. I’d drink the entire bottle of champagne and eat the whole damn pizza. Every bite of pizza would be dipped in an absurd amount of Ranch dressing. There’d be no jokes about whether I was eating pizza with Ranch or Ranch with pizza. I’d share the pizza crust with Bari and not worry about being scolded for giving him human food. In between stuffing my gob and slogging down champagne, I’d cry and scream “FUCK YOU!” to the sky as many times as felt right. Bari would bark and run in circles around me. We’d be like a witch and her familiar casting a curse. Feasting and spellcasting complete, I’d throw the worthless piece of shit into the ocean.

In a few days, weeks, or maybe months, the beeping of a metal detector would disrupt the beach’s serenity at sunrise. The treasure hunter would scoop up the sand in the marked spot to find my ring. Jackpot! The poor bastard would be so disappointed once they figured out a penny was more valuable than a black-specked diamond. I almost felt bad for them. 

“We’ll buy the men’s band but not this ring,” David said handing the ring back to me. “Just hang on to the diamond. You can try again when the market changes.”

Fuck this.

I wasn’t going to sit through one more old fart with a Mr. Peanut monocle telling me my ring was garbage.

“No. I’m going to throw the fucking thing in the ocean.” My voice was steady. Now that I had a plan, the overwhelming despair from moments before was gone. And I liked my plan a lot. 

Chaim’s head snapped up. His eyes locked on mine, his face stern.

“No, no, no. Don’t do anything with the ocean. Promise you won’t do anything with the ocean.”

“I’m not promising a thing. I don’t want that stupid ring. Nobody wants it.” We could have been talking about taking old dish rags to Goodwill for all I cared.  

“Do not throw the ring in the ocean!” Chaim implored and his finger pointed right at my face to bring more authority to his plea. “Just hold on to it.” 

“The ocean can have it.” I gave a dismissive wave of my hand. 

“No, no, no.” He shook his head. “Let me see it again. Let me look,” Chaim waved his hand frantically for me to give him the ring back. I took my time to drop the plagued stone into his outstretched palm. 

As Chaim re-examined the ring, he looked at David. They were having a conversation with their eyes. Slight eyebrow raises. A tilt of the head this way and that. A nod occasionally. A little “hmm” with a shoulder shrug here and there. It felt very intimate, like watching two lovers in bed. I respectfully looked away to let them finish their business in peace.

I walked out with no jewelry and a check. I was happy to have the money but a part of me was disappointed I didn’t get to throw the ring in the ocean.