Today I started my yearly spring clean-up-the-ol'-body routine and did ten crunches. Or tried to. Before the first crunch could even dent my tummy, my diamond ring cut into my hand that was under my head on the floor. It drew blood. That drop of red stopped me cold and I had to sit on the recliner for an hour, watching TV. With a large chocolate chip cookie for comfort.
That little encounter with my jewelry had me thinking: all those years and I had not a clue that every day I wielded the equivalent of brass knuckles. Watch out, anyone who wants my purse! My diamond might not knock your socks off, but it will knock out a tooth. Or at least put a permanent dimple in your chin.
Yet, as I said, there's the down side. I cut my hand with my own jewelry. And did you ever open a hot oven, bending down to admire the roast turkey, and your metal earrings got so hot they burned your ears? My ears are done before the meat is even brown.
I still love jewelry. But after today, I have a new respect for the toughness of diamonds, and now see how it really could be a girl's best friend.