Several years back, my beloved Camden market ring spontaneously combusted while I was trying to shift gears in my shiftless RAV4 and buried itself somewhere in the car.
I scoured every inch of the RAV4 but couldn’t find it.
I got the ring eons ago at Camden Market for 5£. “Are those flat, painted-looking circles actually rubies? Is the ring a family heirloom? An antique?” That’s what people used to ask me.
Yes, absolutely. The flat, poorly painted circles are rubies. What else could they be? And yes, I inherited the ring from my aunt Dulcimer Bequeathington, along with her crayon-embellished tiaras, her horse of a different color, and her sprawling estate in Inconceivable Hills.
Do I look like the kind of gal who inherits things, owns antique anything, or wears valuable jewels? No? Well, okay then.
Well, yesterday I got in the RAV and saw the two pieces of the ring, the band and the topper with the painted-looking rubies, on the floor. Score!
But I have to wonder how, after years of burial, they finally showed up literally at my feet.
After all this time, did the Camden Market ring finally try to engineer its own escape only to be stymied by its inability to open the RAV4’s doors or, really, get the RAV4 to do anything?
Did someone break into my car, discover the buried ring, and leave it behind for me to find after realizing that:
- Wow, this is one seriously crappy RAV4.
- Carolyn, owner of said crappy RAV4, probably needs the ring more than I do, because it’s obviously an antique, ruby-laden heirloom and because [scanning the interior of the crappy RAV4] … damn.
Or did I draw forth the ring from the vehicle’s depths using the law of attraction like all those morons in The Secret?
I sure did miss you, Camden Market ring.