Tuesday, July 26, 2011

I Do, or Did, or Tried.

There is this place in South Minneapolis that buys and sells used jewelry, specifically the kind you're left with after your marriage falls apart. You go in there and you're greeted, nice enough, by staff that wear convoluted smiles belying the circumstances that brought you there in the first place. Even if you're there to buy, you're buying a ring that got hocked after somebody's divorce, and they don't try to hide this fact in their advertisements. Maybe I'm being sensitive, but the place was depressing in the same way Dollywood probably is.

It's really uncomfortable when the person helping you tries to make small talk and asks you about where you got the ring (an estate sale), how long you were married (never got the chance to propose), and how much you originally paid for it (a lot more than they offered to buy it from me for).

When you leave, the lady says, "I hope everything works out for you." And the rest of your weekend is spent trying to catch your breath, like you just got punched in the balls.

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