Let me start at the start of this whole tale of mine, my A is for Anger in the Alphabytes collab entry.  A few weeks back, I decided to get all my rings straightened out, sized properly, cleaned, and polished so I could wear them all, again.  I called one jewelry store and took my one engagement ring in to them.  (Yes, I'm a spoiled princess, I have 2 engagement rings.)  They had a fair price, sounded nice on the phone, and I knew someone who had once worked there.

So, off we went, dropped off the first ring.  It had to be brought up in size, cleaned, and polished, it would be ready in 2 weeks.  I waited those two weeks out, patiently, not really worried, as I figured it would be fine.  The appointed day came, we went, picked it up.  It was perfect.  You couldn't tell where it had been sized, it looked as new as the day we bought it, and it was ready on time.

Wonderful, I thought, I'll go ahead and leave my wedding ring.  I reluctanly took it off my finger and handed it over to them.  Now, my wedding ring is my most prized material possession.  I love that ring.  It's a simple yellow gold band, with a white gold z design with a diamond chip in it.  It was not very expensive, nothing amazingly fancy about it.  It was just my wedding ring.  The ring that Tony placed on my finger they day we were married.

It was in desperate need of sizing as it was leaving a deep indent in my finger.  Plus it was scratched and discolored, even with cleaning it at home, it really needed some work done on it.

I left it at the jewelry store, along with my 7 stone engagement ring. 1 week, they said.  I waited, this time, not as patiently, a little nervous not having it on my ring finger.  And we went camping the weekend it was due back.  Okay, no problem, as soon as we left the campground on Sunday we drove the 60 miles to the store.

Now, it was hot, I was dressed in camping clothes, shorts, a tanktop, hair a mess, redfaced, smelling of insect repellant.  Tony went it to get my ring.  And he came back out and handed it to me.

My ring had been changed.  Along the Z shaped design, instead of a polished rim there was now a brush stroke design.  It wasn't polished, it wasn't simple.  I did not like it. 

I didn't say anything, I put it on my hand, he went off to Walmart to pick up one thing.  By the time he came back, I was in tears.  This wasn't right.  My wedding ring was wrong, I did not like it, it had to be fixed.  Tony walked back in, explained it to them, then came back.

They did not give him a receipt showing that it was back in there.  Again, he went back in, never getting upset, ever understanding, got a receipt and we left.

Now, I must have been a mess.  Still in the camping clothes, stinking of bug spray, wild haired, and now red eyed from crying.  Tony understood, comforted me, bought me a Slurpee and drove me home.

My left hand felt odd to start with, I was wearing my engagement ring, but it still wasn't right.  The next week took at least a year to go by.  I was so damn upset that I even had a nightmare about them completely redoing my ring into some monstrosity of gold, platinum, and onyx, instead of my simple band.

Saturday couldn't get here fast enough.  The night before, I checked the receipt in my wallet, and noticed a charge listed.  We had already paid for this ring to be sized, they had screwed it up and were trying to charge us to fix it.

Suzy doesn't fucking play that.  I was angry.  I was madder than a bear with his face in a bee's nest.  There was no way in hell we were paying to fix their screwup.

The closer we got to the jewelry store, the madder I got.  Tony dropped me off in front, but made me promise to wait to go in.  I did, which in retrospect was a good thing.  We walked in, waited in line, my patience growing thinner by the minute.  Finally, our turn, they pulled out my rings, I placed them on my fingers, immediately, turning them around to make sure it was correct.

Well, my wedding band was close, there are still some marks in the rim, but I can live with that, it's no longer that textured shit they tried to change it to.  She rung us up, including the charge for fixing that mess.

I could feel Tony inhale beside me.  "Oh, no, it was not supposed to cost that much, I am not paying for your screwup."  

Point blank, I refused to spend our money to fix what they did wrong.  The girl looked at me, started to say something, and realized that I was not going to give in, she took the charge off.   As we were turning to leave, she tried to explain that it was a "courtesy."  That mess, changing my ring, without my permission, was a courtesy, my ass.  You don't fuck with someone's wedding ring.

Obviously, any further ring sizing or repairs, will not be done at this jewelry store.  My rings are all home now, my left ring finger holds my wedding band and my solitaire.  My right ring finger holds my seven diamond ring.  And there they will stay, away from evil jewelers who make me cry.

Suzy Smith