The Lure of the Engagement Ring

Ten years later, though, the ring she drooled over doesn't fit her life. (Partly because she has a young daughter she's afraid of scratching, and partly, well, just because. "When we go out with friends, I feel obliged to wear my rings, but I truly don't think much about them otherwise," she says.) Her wrist does the talking now. She wears two Cartier "love bracelets," gifts from her husband. "They literally screw on-it comes with a gold screw-driver. They're really special, and anyone who recognizes them knows that they are only given by a significant other."

So at best, perhaps, the rings couples wear (or don't) are fluid signs of how a relationship and the people in it evolve. I know a couple in their ?fties who have used the tell-tale finger as a space to express all kinds of things: Custom-made silver-and-turquoise rings when they were footloose and fancy free in the '70s. A second-hand diamond solitaire for her about five years later, purchased out of respect for (and with the help of) a "traditionalist" mother, along with new matching bands for both of them, designed by the husband, an architect, and cast by his amateur-jeweler father-in-law. A new ring for him, in the mid-'90s, skillfully fabricated of white, rose, and yellow gold, and bought on a whim while on vacation. Two "anniversary bands" for her, added to the mix when she was diagnosed with breast cancer right around the time of their 25th wedding anniversary. At times, one or both wore nothing at all, not because they didn't want to, but because they were waiting for something that "worked" with the lives they were living at the moment.

Whatever you wear on the third finger of your left hand makes a statement. But sometimes rings don't tell the truth, and sometimes they don't tell the whole story-at least not on their shining surfaces.

Herman Rotenberg's father-in-law, Bill Schifrin, the original proprietor of 1,873 Unusual Wedding Rings and an 87-year-old archive of wedding-ring anecdotes, told me one of his favorites. A well-dressed woman came into the shop, alone, and began placing an order for a custom-made ring. As they were about to complete the transaction, she told him, "It's for my husband. If he doesn't like it, can I bring it back?"

Of course not, Schifrin said, this is custom work. "No refunds, no returns." Sorry.

OK, the woman responded, she would come back with her husband. The next day they both appeared; the husband liked the ring, signed off on it immediately, and went back to his office. His wife paid for the ring, then asked Schifrin to engrave something inside it for her.

The message? Their wedding date, and a truly timeless sentiment. "No refunds, no returns."