Late Marry-er

I admit, I married late. I’m a late marry-er, and so when it came time for me to buy a wedding band, I asked my father where one bought such a thing. My wife and I had found her engagement and wedding rings in a high-end antique outlet in the valley, but it was my understanding that the man could just find his ring out near the LA River somewhere, or maybe he could fashion it out of some tin, wrapped in bailing wire that he kept in those little drawers on his work bench. My father apparently was of the same opinion, because his answer to where I could find a wedding band seemingly exhausted him: “Just go to the mall…” he said, rubbing his temples. So that’s where I went. I went to The Northridge Fashion Center, to a store called Kay Jewelers on the second level, near JC Penny’s, and found my way to the wedding band display case. It was there that I was met by a woman in her late 50’s, strutting up in a smart and confident burgundy pantsuit that matched her long press-on nails. Her hair was jet black and seemed to jump off her head into a bouffant updo and yes, she wore glasses on a chain. She seemed to practically vibrate with suspicion in a way that made me immediately uncomfortable. “May I help you?” she said.

“Yes, hi” I said, nervously “I need to buy a simple wedding band?”

I watched as her lips pursed and a smirk bent her mouth into a crooked smile. The woman leveled her gaze and I heard the slow click of her nails on the glass countertop. Click, click, click, click, as she leaned in, dropped her voice, and nearly whispered: “Did you lose your ring, dear?” And then she dipped her chin and looked at me directly over the top of her glasses, with eyes as hard as those nails, which was her way of asking “Did you lose your ring dear…in the arms of a dirty whore?” Click, click, click, click! went her nails on the glass, as she awaited my answer. Click-click-click-click?

As you can imagine, I was shocked into silence, but I eventually stammered a “No…I did not lose my ring, this is my first ring, I’m getting married for the first time.”

The woman half blinked and then snorted, exhaling pure disgust in my direction as if her body could not contain all of that judgement and she needed to blow it out her dual exhaust pipes into my face, a face obviously weathered with age and much too old to be getting married for the first time in her Kaye Jewelers branch manager estimation.

I mean, did this poor woman just have breathless men running up to her counter every day, with stripper glitter around their mouths and reeking of vanilla body mist? “Yeah, I need a wedding band please...nothing too shiny! Do you have a pre-owned section? Oh! And do you engrave? Do you engrave?”

The woman finally decided to submit to whatever filthy game I was playing, and slid open the back of the glass case, extracting a plain gold wedding band with her burgundy pincers. She placed it atop the flat surface and pushed it across to me at the speed of shame…on…you.

What could she possibly be reacting to, why would she immediately assume that I was…oh, and then it dawned on me…of course, this was a suburban mall…the suburbs, the maze of tract homes, a labyrinth of secrets…Cul de sacs engorged with scandal, Little League bleachers crackling with partner swappage…Bedroom communities, where the bouquet of fresh cut grass mixed with the smoke of smoldering marriages hung in the air.

I looked at the wedding band, and it seemed like it would do the job. I glanced back at the woman who was staring far down the mall, a portrait of impatient disdain.

“I’m not from around here” I told her, but I’m sure she hears that all the time.