I Got a Rock

I hate pearls. I mean HATE them. Hate.

It all goes back to M. Of course it does. I'll never forget my first birthday with him. When I saw that little box my heart went pitter patter. Jewelry! He bought me jewelry!

And then I opened the box. Pearl earrings. Blech. I felt like Charlie Brown in "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown". I got a rock, indeed. (Certainly not the kind of rock I wanted!)

Of course I was gracious. I thanked him and I wore the pearls. And truthfully, back then I didn't harbor the pure hatred of pearls that I do now. It was more of a "They're not really my favorite thing."

That Christmas, M did well on the gift front. I got Ugg boots, exactly what I wanted. And the next birthday I got a really pretty silver necklace with a begonia pendant on it. Yay! No pearls.

The following Christmas I was the proud recipient of not only pearl earrings, but a necklace to match! Luckily, it wasn't like a Barbara Bush pearl necklace. It was silver, with a pendant or something. It had pearls.

And I was gracious. And I wore them.

To be fair, I never did tell M of my distaste for pearls. I've never been one to speak up about that sort of thing. (See Also: every Christmas gift I've ever gotten from my mother.) I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but how do you tell someone that you hate the gift that they picked out for you?

I'm not the kind of person that can thank someone for a gift and then in the same breath ask for the gift receipt so that I can return it. Consequently, I suffer in silence. And then I develop an irrational hate for poor, defenseless pearls.

The last birthday I spent with M I already knew in my heart what I needed to do. My birthday was less than a week before I finally broke up with him. We went out to dinner at one of my favorite restaurants. He brought me flowers (for the first time in the 3 years we dated, but whatever). And pearl earrings.