I met my sister at the Met. The museum, not the opera. Since she arrived at Penn Station and I disembarked at Grand Central, the museum seemed like a logical place to meet. Ok. There were better options, but I am still in the city learning curve.
And I like the museum.
I had some time to wait, so I ventured through the Assyrian and Mesopotamian art (amazing to look at the tile lions from the Babylon), past the huge Bodhissatva statues and a magnificent wall of Buddhist art, and into the serenity of the Asian wing, where an exhibit of furniture and art from the Forbiddden City was displayed.
I wandered in my typical art-appreciation daze, gaping at the exquisite detail and beauty of the pieces, while checking my phone periodically.
Oops. No signal. Didn't I just have four bars?
I rushed back through, down the great stairs, through the atrium and outside, searching the taxis discharging passengers.
"There you are!" My sister strolled up behind me from where she had been leaning against a column. "Did you get my text?" No, I hadn't.
We began walking toward J Crew where we had a 1:00 appointment to look at bridesmaids dresses.
Buzz, buzz, buzz. I glanced at my phone. "Oh, look. You're here!"
We were early for our appointment, so after wandering up and down Madison Ave. a few times, deciding that Nicole Miller had changed her demographic, half-heartedly trying to find a place to eat, and finally wastiing enough time, we returned to the store.
We found a color contender and rejected, vehemently, another. Of course, then we were hungry. Shake Shack here we come. A delicious lunch (what is better than burger, fries, and a shake? Not great for the waistline, but oh, so yummy) and we headed back to our respective train stations for the journey home. Doesn't the ten block walk negate the calorie count of the lunch?
Train ride repeat Saturday morning, although this time with Mr. W.in tow. We were staying the night in his mother's fabulous apartment. A night away from critters. Yay!
We dropped our bag(yes, one bag. This time I did not overpack!)and headed to Tiffany's to pick out wedding bands. Oh yeah.
Let me just say, that the shopping experience at Tiffany & Co. is everything you could imagine, and then some.
After perusing the cases, our sales person, Tony, sat us down and asked what we might want. Platinum? Check. Plain band? Full circle gemstones? Or stones along the front? Decisions, decisions.
Now, my sister is under the impression, from a joking text I sent her about a sapphire and diamond band, that I had my heart set on that from the get-go. Not true. Actually, the one I liked best online, clashed with my engagement ring. Because of my life-style, ok, I mean that I am rough on rings, really rough, I was worried about the life-expectancy of some of the rings. But this is Tiffany's! At least I am going try stuff on. Bring on the bling!
As I was playing fantasy dress up (Holly Golightly eat your heart out!), a young tuxedoed male model came over to offer us some refreshment. Water, soda, or, perhaps champagne? Tempting, but it was a bit early for me to start with alcohol. We opted for water. Still? Or sparkling? Still. I wasn't going to make the same mistake my sister made a J Crew, when she shocked me by opting for sparkling. Let's leave it at, Pellegrino was not what she was expecting.
With the help of Tony, I was able to narrow it down to three sparkling lovelies. Mr. W.'s turn. I think his decision was much simpler. He's a guy. They sized his finger, he tried on a few, flexing his hand to see how they felt, unlike me, who had to wave them around in front of the mirror.
Within five minutes, he had a winner. Back to my three finalists. Ring one, on finger, consult mirror. No. Rings two and three? Consult mirror, ask Mr. W., ask Tony, tempted to ask the woman trying on bands at the next counter, maybe the security guard can help? Finally, ding, ding, ding, we have a winner!
And it is...
The one I joked about to my sister. But it was a close race. Mr. W. chose a platinum band called Tiffany Legacy (which was the style I had originally wanted for myself, but it didn't go with my engagement ring.
Next adventure: finding clothes for Mr. W.,otherwise known as: Brain-fried in Saks, Fifth Avenue
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