Craigslist: Crushing reminder of failed romance available to best offer

TOP columnist Rachel Starnes says:

This is a Craigslist post from my little brother in Indianapolis: Crushing reminder of failed romance available to best offer.

Perhaps you are in the market for a diamond ring tainted with failure and heartache, but more likely you’re just in need of a good laugh. Have one at his expense— if direct punches to the crotch aren’t funny then why bother recovering from them, right?— and forward at will.

Crushing reminder of failed romance available to best offer

photo / craigslist Indianapolis post 

Here’s what I have:

One white gold, lady’s, solitaire ring; set with one, transparent, white, princess cut, natural diamond. Substantiated weight: .72 ct. Proportions and Finish: Good. Color: H-I Clarity I1. Comes with Carte Blue Evaluation and appraisal.

Here’s what I really have:

This diamond has been tucked away in desks and closets throughout the numerous crappy apartments I have lived in for the last four years. I have resisted the urge to recreate any movie you’ve ever seen with a broken hearted “good guy” as its main character, by dramatically heaving the ring, a representation of my painful past, into a canyon or the ocean or liquid hot magma or some other endless symbol of reclamation. That gag is all played out. Plus, I paid out the freakin’ nose for this thing and if you change your mind after the canyon/ocean/magma scenario, you’re sort of in a pickle. I have also resisted the much less dramatic advice of my friend Barrett to take the ring to a jeweler, extract the diamond, and, “Get [me] a sweet ass man ring.”

Every time I stumble across the ring I feel like someone has punched me in the nuts…in public…and like maybe they’ll do it again for a good laugh. My ex-fiancee gave it back to me after I returned from a trip to Argentina as a grad student in 2004. Did I flounce around with some Argentine Tango goddess when I was there? Nope. Did I bed a traveling band of Swedish backpackers in a Buenos Aires hostel? Not that either. On the contrary, I spent most of my time wondering why The Ex had broken a lease in my name THE DAY AFTER I LEFT despite telling me the day I left that everything was cool and she was looking forward to moving in to the apartment on which I’d already placed a sizable deposit. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried, but it’s pretty tough sub-letting a loft from 8,000 miles away. I’m just saying.

Anyhow, we did the “just dating” thing again for awhile after I got back. Mostly, this was sleeping together and me pretending things would work out. I spent an interminable year living with my parents - remember I’m apartmentless at this point - I took a job working at a Starbucks that was managed by a neurotic and over protective single mother who also tried to get in my pants (true story). Her son played the tuba and I fear has been made in to a massive dork by his mother. There was much more floundering and gnashing of teeth with The Ex as we tried to extract ourselves from the sticky mess we had made (seriously, get your mind out of the gutter). And then, after a ludicrous career change made in the mode of self-preservation, I finally wound up in the Midwestern megalopolis that is Indianapolis. It’s ok so far, and no, I’m not used to the winters yet. Thanks for asking.

PS I really just wanted to use “-polis” twice in the same sentence a few sentences back. I succeeded. Indy is a lot of things, but a “megalopolis” isn’t one of them. I digress…

So what do I want for the ring? Great question. If you have a charming, intelligent, blonde haired, blue eyed, tan, athletic, angel of the morning laying around the house, I would be willing to make an exchange. Too much to ask, you say? That’s ok. I think that’s human trafficking anyway and I’m pretty sure it’s illegal.

How about this: Make me an offer that you think takes into account the following: Worth of the ring. Emotional toll. The negative balance of my checking account. 1 year’s membership to Match.com. Seriously. Following the advice of another friend, one much less wise than Barrett, I got on Match because it seemed like time to move on. Good grief. Date #1 proudly proclaimed she had been in a Girl’s Gone Wild video (the one with Snoop Dogg) and was also a Reds fan (much less forgivable). Date #2 showed up on my porch one night with a psychological study explaining passive/aggressive disorder. Date #3 was a raging bulimic…and alcoholic. And date #4…well, you think I would have learned, no? One of the few girls I actually did like -a non Match.com girl - moved to Scandinavia…and not Scandinavia, Indiana.

So, to the victor go the spoils. Send me an offer and if you wind up the lucky bastard with this ring, then I hope you have better luck with it than I did. I’m just tired of happening upon it during the occasional cleaning fit. It’s like coming into your living room after hosting a party and finding your drunk friend still on your couch. Go home already. And stop throwing up.