Girl (2)

[For the first installment of “Girl,” click here.]

In the past two weeks, I have tried on approximately $18,000 worth of jewelry (retail).

Strolling through a not-so-faraway town, I discovered a new shop that features estate jewelry. I tried on a killer diamond(s) ring with a beautiful Victorian setting, price tag $6,800. The proprietor tried to steer me toward another ring as well, one that cost about $3,000. It was interesting, but not as nice as the first.

While there, I also tried on a big chunky, angular gold bracelet with more diamonds, a really cool piece from—did she say 1930s? or the decade before or after?—I’d never seen anything quite like it. It could be mine for a mere $4,800.

Those ring and bracelet prices made the slinky art deco diamond-and-ruby earrings at $1,500 seem practically a steal.

(Does this happen to you? You enter the world of the entirely impossible—or at least crazy—a world with numbers that for you are essentially theoretical and meaningless, and by the time you leave, the lower numbers, still out of your reach, sound like a deal!)

I left without spending any money and had a great time with the proprietor, but there’s a part of me that feels guilty for wasting someone’s time. (There’s a shop in Portland that I’ve avoided for more than a year now, being afraid they will recognize me and think, “Oh, there she is again. That tease.” I once tried on a stunning yellow diamond ring there that was—oh, what was it? $16,000? They sold it. But not to me.)

In other posts, I’ve mentioned my earlier quest to own a dozen watches. I’ve since discovered the downside to this: battery maintenance. Yesterday I wanted to wear a particular watch to my office holiday lunch. The battery was dead. I checked the other watches, which is what I do when I discover one has died, and found two more dead. I threw them all in an envelope with a plan to stop at the jeweler’s on the way to work.

En route, I considered my finances. Maybe I should just replace one battery now, not three. Maybe I could wait a month, then replace the other two. I’d decide when I walked in the door.

I went with one battery replacement, for $8. That may seem pricey ($4 battery, $4 labor), but hey, they have the tools, they do all the work, and they’re fast. It’s a convenience. While the jeweler was replacing the battery, I checked out the cases. There was a yellow-diamond-with-diamonds ring, a new ring in an old-fashioned setting (frankly, I don’t know what I’m talking about when it comes to styles and eras—my feeble mind just points and says, Look! Pretty!). After I’d paid for the battery, I asked to try on the ring.

It was gorgeous, but too small. Free sizing, though, if I bought it—$1,800, I think. The jeweler asked if I had a Secret Santa.

Poor guy didn’t even know about the $16 I wasn’t dropping.

Is there a name for this behavior? Playing dress-up with no intention whatsoever to buy?

And is it wrong?