Don't Fake It

Another suburban phenomena: jewelry parties. Akin to the Tupperware swaps of the 80's, 'jewelry parties' feature a salesperson, wine, and many, many women who spend too much time indoors with their children and are in dire need of something sparkly to buy. Always a joiner, I accepted my neighbor's invitation to attend a weekday evening gathering of the sort.

While enjoying a nice glass of chardonnay (a housewife favorite) I perused the chandelier earrings, the chunky cocktail rings, and thought that, perhaps, these parties aren't as bad as they say. A distinctive silver twisted bangle caught my eye, on further inspection I saw it was an impostor.  I sighed, realizing these ladies were here in large part buying knock-offs. I put the faux Yurman on my arm, next to my authentic piece (a 24th birthday gift from my parents). Like a shark scents prey, the saleswoman appeared at my side. "The thin one is $15, the thicker one is $35" she stated. I looked at her for a moment, and realized she was pointing to my wrist. I politely told her the 'thicker' one she so deftly referred to was my bracelet (remaining clam and not using words like 'real' or 'fake', as this was a neighbor's home after all). She seemed to consider me for a minute, as if debating whether perhaps I was trying to make off with her plastic imposture. Our eyes locked, and she thought better of proceeding. I swiftly took off the phony and returned it to the graveyard of sad, fake gems. I finished off my wine, thanked the host, and returned home across the street. I would prefer buying baking pans and rolling pins.