Julie admired the ring on her hand. She'd dreamt of this all her life. She'd been led to believe that it would somehow feel magical.
But it didn't. It made her feel ordinary. It made her feel that she was marrying beneath her.
"What am I going to do with you?" said Julie to the ring.
"Well, whatever you do," said the ring, "don't throw me back at him like the last one."
"What do you mean," said Julie, as if talking to a talking jewel was the most ordinary thing in the world, "'like the last one'?"
"Oh, have I said the wrong thing?" said the ring. "I'm so sorry."
"No, " said Julie, "I think you may have said exactly the right thing. Do go on, please."
"Well," said the ring, "it may interest you to know that you ain't the first little lady he's got engaged to. In fact, you ain't even the tenth."
"Oh?" said Julie, willing the ring to continue.
"You're the ninth."
"But you said I wasn't the tenth."
"I know, cos you're the ninth."
"Nine's less than ten."
"Well, yeah, that's kinda my point."
Suddenly Julie's husband-to-be seemed a much more interesting prospect. She resolved to wait a little longer before deciding whether to go through with it. That, and to give herself some time to figure out a plan that would end with her keeping the talking ring.
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