“Mel, I need your help,” R, a law firm veteran and good friend, says in a low voice.

“Really? What’s up?” I half expect him to ask me for help writing his resignation letter. He’s been contemplating an escape from the trenches for months, while I’ve cheered from the sidelines.

“It’s time. I’m buying S a ring.”

“That’s fantastic!” I feel a rush of vicarious thrill – this will be the largest and least selfish purchase he’ll likely ever make, leading to one of the most nerve-wracking moments of his life. “Have you picked something out? Where are you shopping? Don’t you dare say Tiffanys – just ’cause you’re a bigshot lawyer doesn’t mean you have to flush money down the toilet.”

“I’ve got this guy on 47th who’s setting me up with a stone. He’s the only Korean guy on the block – I figure if he can stay afloat as the only Korean guy in the entire Diamond District, he must be good.”

“Fair enough. So what’s the issue?”

“I’ve picked out the setting, and narrowed it down to two stones. Now I have to choose.”

I get a new rush, this time of flattery at being selected as his consultant. “Excellent. Send me pictures. What’s the difference between them? Size? Cut?” I throw out the only terminology I know, not wanting him to realize that my knowledge of diamonds is about equivalent to my quantum mechanics skills.

“Sort of. One is bigger and flashier, but not quite as beautiful just to look at it. The smaller one has more character, it’s a little more her style.”

“Hmm, let me ponder deeply on this one – get the more beautiful one. There, you’re done.”

“Not so simple. I’m leaning towards the bigger one.”

“Why?”

“You know, the whole external factor. It’ll look better when people see it. Have to keep up with the standard. I don’t want her feeling inadequate.”

“What, you mean when you parade her through the trophy wife receiving line at department dinners and summer outings?”

“Funny. I’m being serious.”

“R, you’re not buying an engagement ring for the antitrust partner down the hall. Who gives a shit what people think when they see it?”

“Not that simple. I have two entirely different worlds to please here; her world, which values aesthetics and will recognize that the smaller one is better cut and clarity, and my world, which will see that it’s smaller than the one Associate X gave his fiancee, even though we’re in the same class.”

He’s right – you can’t miss them in Manhattan, the endless stream of corporate wives wearing rocks that could feed more villages than a Sally Struthers marathon. These women strut through the streets like prizefighters, heads high, chins raised, their left hands always in motion around their faces and purse straps to show off their hard-won trophies. They watch you noticing their massive prizes, smiling at the envious looks from girls with naked hands and glowering at any woman who dares to flash an even bigger stone.

“I see your point. But the bottom line is that this ring is for her, not anyone else. In a year or two, hopefully all those external factor types will be out of your life. But S is there for good. So get the one she’d like more.”

He pauses, his face unreadable. “Yeah, ok. Thanks for the advice.” His voice is curt, and I know instantly there’s not a chance in hell he’ll take my advice.