Romeo void

No matter how bad your financial lot is on Saipan, you can still enjoy sunsets and warm breezes. Don’t worry, I haven’t punted economics for kum-bay-yah platitudes. But as un-sentimental as I am, even I will note that are no guarantees that spending money on more “luxurious” stuff will make you any happier than a quiet session with your toes in the sand.

I’m not saying that money can’t buy happiness. It usually can. But buying power, like any other power, is a two-edged sword. Best be careful with it.

Thus begins a tale that is an appropriate antidote (and anecdote) for these lean times. It didn’t happen on Saipan; I heard it during a stretch of time in purgatory, which fairly describes much of the outside world.

Anyway, here’s the start of the story: “My boyfriend got me a diamond ring,” a college student told me. Since she didn’t build her sentences around the words “like,” “you know,” or “oh my God,” I was willing to listen to her narrative.

The ending isn’t happy.

But back to the start. Her beau, who I surmise is, like her, a 19-year old (or so) college kid, surprised her with the diamond ring (not, incidentally, an engagement ring). This was quite the dramatic gesture.

A few days later, after the giddiness of the grand gesture was wearing off, and, presumably, after bragging rights to every other college girl within cruise-missile range were duly exercised, somebody noticed that the diamond had developed black spots in it.

Oops.

Don’t ask me how this happens. My interest in diamonds is zero. Maybe the flaw was there before and they didn’t see it. Or maybe there’s some way for a dealer to mask a flaw long enough to make a sale. Or maybe little spots of carbon congeal seemingly spontaneously after a Flying Spaghetti Monster waves a noodly appendage over the periodic table of the elements during a low-orbit drive-by of earth. I don’t know.

But this much I understand: The crappy diamond turned a big gesture into an even bigger disappointment. That’s the problem with grand gestures: When they backfire, the goodwill they were contrived to create turns negative.

I’ll follow that strategic observation with a tactical chalk talk. After all, the guys reading this column are already starting to think tactically at this point. Advanced practitioners of the romantic arts would advise our young Romeo to take his losses and put the whole thing behind them, perhaps tossing the evidence discretely if the opportunity presented itself.

Other men, less savvy tactically, but not wanting to yield to a total financial loss, might suggest that Romeo have a little discussion with the jeweler in hopes of finding some sort of remedy.

But no male worth his Y- chromosome would dare suggest that this mook should take his girlfriend WITH him to the jewelers to “make everything all right.”

So you can guess what happened next.

We can just imagine the jeweler rubbing his hands with glee when he saw that pair of doe-eyed innocents entering his lair. And we can be mighty sure that the mook would be put in a position to either plead guilty to buying a crappy ring, thus being convicted of Felony Cheapskate, or he could cough up more money and buy a “better” ring, thus buying his way out of that jam.

Out came the wallet. Hey, no suspense on that note, folks, you saw that coming.

But what we’ll never see is that ring. She wasn’t wearing it. The ring merely memorializes the entire, unhappy fiasco. I got the impression that she never wants to see it again.

And, perhaps, she doesn’t want to see her Romeo anymore either. “I have doubts now,” she said. “Furthermore, I feel like I’m being trapped by a gift, and I don’t like that feeling.”

The moral of the story? Stick with sunsets.