The Ring Collector or Disaster Escapist

My could be metrosexual friend, Lenny, was helping jog someone's memory of me last night.
He said: "You know, Nadège? The one who keeps getting engaged but never goes through with it? The ring collector !"

This new descriptive comes on the heel of my fourth broken engagement because I am still in possession of most of the rings. Not by choice, technically, but because the jilted parties have refused to take back their gift.

While my ego enjoys any title that sounds remotely empowering, I can't help but analyze the events that led up to this possibly accurate factoid. Here's how it all happened.

Collection 1:
This first one should not count because it was just as mediocre, unsatisfying and as fleeting as most first sexual encounters. We called it a "pre-engagement" ring. It was a very simple gold band with a speck of an emerald in the center surrounded by a cluster of diamond flecks. I basically would need to explain the purpose of that ring for anyone to be in- the -know.

Sergio's main objective in presenting me with this ring was to get through my chastity belt. I lived with the strictest Haitian grandparents in Buschwick, NY. Said chastity belt NEVER came off during Sergio's eight months tenure.  I outgrew him pretty rapidly too because I was planning on becoming a run away.  I got as far as Saratoga Springs, NY. Eighty dollars can only get you so far!

 By the time I made my way back to Brooklyn, Sergio had moved to Florida. Word was, I ruined New York for him so moving to a State where people tend to move to, to prepare for imminent death was the better option. I tried to locate him very unsuccessfully. I still have the ring but my intentions were to return it.

Collection 2:

I am now in Graduate school. My Johnny (yes, that was his name) is a lawyer, an attorney, a corporate sell-out. He challenges my intellect in ways that removed my very heavy chastity belt within weeks of courtship. How I got through four (4) years of dorm living in Undergraduate school with my belt intact is beyond my own comprehension.
It helped that Johnny was fifteen (15) years my senior. He owned a sailboat and he traveled extensively for work. I always had a companion ticket awaiting me at the United Airlines Counter.  During my two years of Grad school,  I would meet Johnny in Bermuda, The Bahamas, Martinique, Guadeloupe, Puerto Rico, St, Marteen...Just to name the few I remember. We had a great life until my Graduation Day. He presented me with the most expensive piece for my budding collection and insisted that we marry by summers' end and that I get "knocked up" -his words- "during the honeymoon". He'd like to "be a father by yesterday"!
Needless to say, I did what every sensible 23 year old actor would do. I packed up my Saturn and drove cross country to LA LA Land.
Peace out, catch you on the flip side Johnny!

Collection 3:

I am now living and loving month four in LA LA Land. The vegetation, the weather, the work...it's all here. Some guy named Guy (yes, truly his name) an East Coast transplant, stops me at a WiFi Coffee Shop named @ on Melrose Avenue.

"Hey, you gotta boyfriend?"
"Who wants to know?" I ask in Brooklynese.
"Not, me! I'm married, " Guy says- "but I gotta friend.."
So, in true New Yorker fashion, I decide to call his bluff.
"Do you? Yeah? Call him. Right now! In front of me, Guy- Call your guy, GUY!"

Fast Forward, six months into dating Ken, he gets on his knees, proposes on a crisp February Sunday morning poolside in Sherman Oaks. He did not have a ring pre-purchased, but the thought of me as his wife crossed his mind and on an impulse he proposed! Cool!
I respond in-like and we jump in the pool shouting victorious affirmatives!
I am now 24 years old! I look down at my ring-free hand and interrogate:
"Well, don't you gotta ring for me or something?"
"Not yet."
"How am I suppose to go around telling people I am TAKEN, SPOKEN FOR if there is nothing on it?" I wave my ring finger at him. We both agree, I look as if I'm giving him the business. I was!

We hop in his White Jeep Wrangler and off we go, hunting for a jewelry store. It was Sunday and none was open in Sherman Oaks! That was an omen. Nine months later, we part ways.
This time I knew where this one lived and mailed him back his impulse purchase. Cool!

Collection 4
I went from MEN to a boy in long pants. From class to crass. Collection 4, sent me a scathing email one fine July evening requesting every gift he'd ever given to me back, including gifts his mother gave to me, or $200US- Minus the ring!  From "decisive -take - charge men" to one who needs his friends to tell him what to do. He listened to them and now lives with them or next door to them.  Yet, he too refuses to take THE RING back.

Am I "The Ring Collector"? Or just a "Disaster Escapist"?