“A woman needs ropes and ropes of pearls.” —Coco Chanel
Here is a thing you may not know about me: I have a history with pearls. I inherited one of my grandmother’s imitation pearl bracelets when I was eleven, and even though the creamy paint is chipping off the pearl-shaped beads, I treasure it and wear it anytime I need a bit of luck.
My parents bought me my first set of real pearls when I turned sixteen, and they sit in a place of honor in my closet, safe in their gold-leaf velvet-lined box for me to admire whenever I feel the need.
Not being into diamonds, blood or otherwise, I’ve filled my embarrassing secret Pinterest board with dozens of photos of pearl and opal engagement rings. (Really, I just don’t “get” diamonds. Why are they such a thing?)
And almost every day, I finish my getting-ready routine by slipping on one of my mother’s old rings, a simple gold band topped with a single pearl. (She may or may not know that I’ve “borrowed” it from her jewelry box.)
So far in my life, only four people know about this blog: myself, my partner, and two of my close friends. I think I’m keeping it that way on purpose for now, to see if I can really make a go of this. I don’t want to send out links to everybody and show off my promising first post only to poop out on it later. I want people who find this blog to feel like they’ve really found something. Does that make sense? I mean, it worked for Julie & Julia, right?
But in the meantime, I have a blog to run, even if only three other people know about it. And, somewhat foolishly, my chosen topic tonight happens to be something that I don’t want to share with one of those three people. Fortunately, she is getting married in less than five days, so I doubt she’s doing much in the blogosphere at the moment. But just to be safe: if your name is Dana and you are getting married on Friday, please do not click the “Read more” link below. Thanks, lovey love!
If this is you, go away.