Marry Me A Little?

The absolute best part of living in New York is unlimited brunches. They combine day drinking, cheap and tasty beverages, and the luxurious absolution of driving responsibility. I have also never ended one without a story.

After one such Bacchanal, the Marvelous Meerkat convinced me that she’d found her dream engagement ring. Since she’s already cohabitating with her dream guy, she asked me to journey the five blocks with her to offer my approval. I obliged.

When we got to the jewelry establishment, we were buzzed in to what I can only describe as a high end pawn shop. The woman behind the counter bore a striking resemblance to Danny Trejo (pictured below) and wore no fewer than twenty rings, mostly of the wedding and engagement variety; multiple rings on each knuckle. She completed this look with a Canadian tuxedo and electric pink lipstick.

Happily taking in the whole experience, I was stunned to see the rings that MM coveted; they were absolutely beautiful. It was a diamond engagement ring of at least a karat and a matching diamond wedding band. These rings were being offered for a lot less than their retail value, partially because they were so tiny. I have man hands and would have scarcely been able to fit one over my first pinky knuckle. But the Marvelous Meerkat has teensy hands. These rings fit perfectly. Mrs. DT and I agreed it was fate. All the Marvelous Meerkat had to do was convince her boyfriend to put a deposit on the rings.

The story of what happens next has only been told to me, but I can tell you that I would never tangle with the love child of a Pirates of the Caribbean villain and a meth dealer from Winter’s Bone.

Mr. Meerkat returned and put a deposit on the rings that very afternoon. After much discussion and crunching of numbers, it was decided that the rings were out of the budget. When Mr. M. returned to Mrs. Danny Trejo to retrieve the $200 deposit, it ended in her calling him a warlock and throwing him out of the store. The best part of being thrown out is that once you’re asked to leave this pawn shop to the stars, you have to stand at the door until the person behind the counter buzzes you out.

Even after the Marvelous Meerkat returned to see if she could sweet talk the money from Mrs. DT (I honestly don’t know if lady Danny Trejo is married, but with all those rings on it would be so sad if she weren’t.), the money could not be returned and both my friend and her intended were renounced.

At the end of the day, the only lessons I can offer are never play a player and that when a woman who wears the jeweled equivalent of brass knuckles tells you no, just take the store credit and gratefully escape with your life.

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