A Few Musings on Baubles

Plotnik has come to the conclusion that jewelry is not like wine, where it doesn't matter what it costs, only that you like it. In fact, it is a badge of honor to find a bottle of $5 cabernet that you can tell your friends about. You'll be a hero. When they drink it, they'll say: "Yeah! Plottie found this at Two Buck Moe's!"

IN GENERAL, Plotnik has noticed this doesn't work with jewelry. It appears to be true that the more you spend for baubles the more you like them.

Plotnik has bought many moderately priced earrings for The Great Ducknik and a few...just a few...of these have been favored. Admittedly, his taste was once, let's just say it, crappy. He barely knew the difference between a broach and a guitar pick. He is getting much better.

But it is also true that he spent a lot more for the earrings for which he stalked the jewelry boutiques in Singapore (with the help of an older, very wealthy Singaporean matron who bargained like God Herself), and he also spent a lot more for the ones he gave Ducknik last September on their anniversary that didn't end in an 0.

...and so he attempted to match that success this Christmas. He was partially successful, but the problem with the necklace he purchased was the problem Plotnik had foreseen -- too much like the earrings. So Ducknik thought she'd like to go back to the store and see some other items too. In the end a very nice exchange was made, in which both Ducknik and Plotnik like the new bauble far more than the bauble Plotnik had originally picked out.

But while they were in the jewelry store, the salesgirl was patiently explaining the difference between two necklaces she had displayed neatly on the black velvet doogumdad. They looked pretty much the same, only one had a tiny blue bead and one had a tiny red bead. Both had miniscule round, gold dinguses attached. Ducknik seemed to prefer the one with the round gold dingus and the blue bead, but when Plotnik asked the price, and the salesgirl told him, he gagged.

He didn't mean to, but Christ. He was surprised, that's all.

He asked the salesgirl why this one cost so much more than the other one, and she said "that little round dingus is 24 carat gold" (or 22 carat gold or anyway a full salad full of carats). "But it's tiny, right?" Plotnik whined, and the salesgirl said "well, that's why it's only GASP Dollars."

Now Plotnik is here to tell you, and The Great Ducknik would agree, that that little round gold dingus was tiny and tinny and not too many steps removed from a Cracker Jack box. But it was 24 or 22 carats, and it is Plotnik's contention that it would look the same at 1 carat, but if it's 24 carats when one's mother in law asks one how many carats there are in one's gold dingus one can say 24 carats and that will shut her right up.

Not Ducknik's mother in law, she would never ask anything like that. "One's" mother-in-law. (Think: "Juan's mother-in-law.")

Ducknik thought the bead/dingus combination doodaddle was too extravagant too. A lovely Kevin necklace was purchased (this is a pro basketball reference) and everyone smiled, said thanks for your help, please come back again, have a beautiful day. The bell over the door jangled.

Plotnik had been anxious for a week to complete this transaction and he was happy to have completed it successfully, because he is never comfortable in a jewelry store. He feels that he is being played like a banjo by women who know so much more than he does, and have a lot of experience convincing husbands and boy friends that tiny gold dinguses and flashy diamond blingmamas are what their true loves actually desire.

(And this is not true. What they desire is more shoes. Come on, readers, be honest.)

Mission accomplished. it was nice to be outside.

Out on the street, Plotnik breathed in the suddenly fresh and crisp air of a beautiful new day, only to hear Ducknik say: "I just want to go to one more place, down the street."

"But, whimper, wait..."

"You'll like this place," Ducknik said, and amazingly enough, Plotnik really did. It's a cramped, vibey new store where the woman owner makes her own things and has designers who make jewels out of, oh, vintage buttons and found objects. There were several found objects that looked a hell of a lot more prosperous than that stupid tiny gold dingus and this lady's jewelry costs a tenth or a twentieth as much as the ones with all those carats.

But nobody's friends say: "Look at that nice necklace Plotnik bought Ducknik. He got it at Button World and it only cost $14! What a guy!"

Nope, they don't, do they?

And the Plotniks didn't BUY anything in the cool, cheap store, they BOUGHT something in the expensive, designer-ier store.

What is the point here?

It is that jewelry and wine are not the same. When you finish the bottle, it's gone. But that beautiful classy bauble around the Duck's neck will bring both Plottie and Ducknik a lot of pleasure for many years. Right?

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(That's the Hope Diamond above, by the way, the largest diamond in the world, not Ducknik's new Kevin.)