I’m not sure where Marilyn Monroe got the notion, but diamonds are not my best friend. I don’t hate them, mind you, but I’ve never judged the depth and the breadth of love based upon their size. The diamond my grandfather bought for my grandmother? Minuscule. The number of second and third construction shifts he worked in order to propose to her with a ring? Epic.

My own husband popped the question with a 10-cent ring from a vending machine. He later upgraded to a lovely diamond, but truly, I would have been happy to wear the original.

Give me a promise made of stronger stuff than pressurized carbon, and you can keep the rest.

I will, however, take a stack of good books and a fabulous pair of heels (perhaps Marilyn really felt the same way, but it would have made for a rather unwieldy song title). I leave you with “A Girl’s Best Friend,” as seen through my eyes…

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