by Devi Zinzuvadia
I am 27 years old, and single. Very single. Ridiculously single, some members of my family will tell you. These are people who at family gatherings actually wink and ask me if I am "seeing anyone special." When the answer is invariably "no" very strange looks cross their faces. Their furrowed brows hint at their internal dialogue: Why can she never keep a man for more than five minutes? Is there something wrong with her? Is she - is she a lesbian? When I was her age…
Oh boy. The trouble I get into for being a single gal. It gets even worse when the well-meaning friends start in. These are people, mind you, who are marrying off at a truly alarming rate. My best friend from college got married three years ago, and just had her first baby last July. The spring right after she got married, I must admit, I was in a bit of a crisis mode. I was only 23, but all I could think about was how I would never, ever get married. I took to visiting Tiffany's and trying on $25,000 engagement rings - totally by myself, mind you, crying my eyes out while very nice, and obviously well trained, salespeople actually acted as though everything were fine. But one day, I found a solution. At least a temporary one. Early to meet friends for dinner, I happened by a store called Designer Imposters Fine Jewelry. For reasons that pass understanding, I walked right in, and was greeted by a lovely sales clerk named Fatima. Fatima was a bit baffled by my insistence at looking over the rows and rows of fake engagement rings, but nonetheless happily played along. Finally, I found my ring. The classic 6 prong Tiffany setting. Fake platinum and a very fake, albeit nice and shiny, solitaire diamond. Diamante, I believe is the technical term. "I'll take it!" I told Fatima, who at this point had no idea what to do with me. "Would you… like it in a box?" Fatima asked uncertainly. "No," I said, "I'll just wear it out!" And so I did. My little 20 dollar engagement ring soon went with me everywhere, to bars, to Starbucks, to dinner with my friends that same evening, who rolled their eyes and didn't even waste time telling me how totally crazy I was.
These days, I am happy to report, I am in much better shape. It's not 1957, after all, and there is a high probability I will be perfectly happy even if I never do settle down. And I am certainly not quite as "rock hungry", as my friend Whitney would say, as I was when I was 23. I'll admit, though, it can be difficult at times to hang tough when it seems as though everyone around me is getting married and engaged. There has been a steady stream of wedding invitations rolling in so far this year. They know me by sight now at the Crate and Barrel on 59th Street, I spend so much time buying presents off of their gift registry. Ah, gift registries. Single people have nothing like them. But why should the married folks get to have all the fun? When do we honor those who, by choice, by design, or by just dumb luck, never settle down into a twosome? I don't have the answers to these questions now, and I certainly did not have them on that sunny day in April 2001 when I bought myself that very small piece of comfort. And if all else fails, at the very least, I've got my shiny, fake ring to keep me company. And a pile of wedding invitations to keep me warm.