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The Ring and I
The trouble with buying the dress you will wear to your birthday
party a month before the day itself is that when coifed and buffed
you step into the precious garment , with champagne saucer teetering
gaily on the edge of the basin, it may no longer feel entirely
new. You can keep it hidden in polythene wrap; you can go through
a sort of garment amnesia and rediscover it in your wardrobe,
accidentally- on-purpose on the eve of the great day; you can
usually request that the shop keep it in storage for you, but
whatever you try come the week of your party it will have lost
its fresh allure. It will feel a
little stale. If it’s really unlucky the poor dress may even have gone
out of
fashion. Of course, you’ll shrug bravely and put it on in a waste-not-want
not sort of way. But, at the eleventh hour, with guests clogging up the street
in their brand new get-ups, your wavering fidelity to the beastly dress will
finally collapse completely and before you know it you are desperately and shamefully
craving something new.
Your guests all know there is nothing like buying an outfit
in the afternoon and wearing it that same night. It makes you
feel experimental, extravagant, impulsive and daring-the definition
of all thing partyish. Prudence and preparation are not bad things
in themselves it’s just that they don't easily lend themselves
to scenes of high jinx. Who wouldn't prefer a crime pasionnelle
to one committed in cold blood?
This year my party spirits were saved at the last minute when
a request to borrow a large gold and diamond butterfly ‘Envol’ cocktail
ring was met with a surprisingly good-natured YES! by the good
people at Van Cleef and Arpels. The ring and I already have a
bit of history. I saw it first last April in a display at Bergdorf
Goodman where I stood gazing at it for many minutes until a friendly
window cleaner intervened. I’ve visited it regularly at
Harrods, during tough times, and we’ve built up quite a
rapport. Then three weeks ago I had a dream about it. I was sitting
on an aeroplane gazing out of the window when the butterfly ring
came flying towards me. It was a sign.
On the morning of the party I skipped Mary’s ballet class
and made my pilgrimage to Harrods where the ring lay waiting
for me. I slipped it on, signed some papers and I was off. I
waltzed round the store, sampling prosciutto from the heart of
the ham in the foodhall, trying on green cashmere and mink handbags
in the Hall of Luxury. The ring had such presence that its very
lustre, I’m sure, would have seen me catapulted to the
front of the Krispy Kreme queue, but for once I was not in a
doughnut frame of mind.
At eight o'clock I began to get ready, brushing Guerlain Divinora
Extravagold Poudre Visage over quite a few square feet of skin
to welcome my new adornment. (How I wish I had coined the word ‘extravagold.’)
Then I slid on the ring. Instantly I felt ready to face the world.
If it hadn't been for the chill wind whistling under the windows
and the look of mild surprise on my husband’s face I might
easily have forgotten to put on anything else at all. I took
out the dress and instead of resenting its month’s residence
in my cupboard we greeted each other like firm friends. The amethyst
coloured panne velvet felt warm and comforting.
I went downstairs and put the finishing touches on the food.
I poured some drinks for the first guests and lit the candles.
The ring shimmered brightly on my finger and as I gazed at the
two huge wings crusted with white diamonds my spirits soared.
ONLY HUMAN by Susie Boyt is published by Headline Review www.susieboyt.com
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