Sometimes when couples split, one or the other party gets in in his or her head to make life as miserable as possible for as long as possible for the other person, and grasps on to anything, no matter how trivial, to use against the other.
Wow. Back on Friday I figured this thread’d be dead by now! I must say, it’s been quite an education!
And I especially like Skip’s idea about the potato gun. 
For the record, I agree with those of you who’ve said that if it’s an heirloom, it should go back. I wouldn’t want his great-great grandmother (who’s probably dead by now, but work with me) to suffer the loss of her special bauble just because her great-great grandson (whom she probably mistakes for one of the 27 other great-grandsons she has, in her advanced age) did the Nudie Hula with Lula.
And the questions about why I would want to keep it (and the points made therein) are certainly valid. But really, I don’t think of it as a revenge tactic. (I mean, sure, if it did turn into a court battle, I’d feel compelled to stand my ground just on principle, but in the long run it wouldn’t be worth it to me to go through all that, so I’d probably give it back the second my subpoena arrived.)
I’ve always been one of those people who seeks the silver lining in a bad situation, and to me, a trip to Hawaii (or something that could be considered a big pitcher of lemonade out of a big pile of lemons) would go a long way towards helping me get over the whole ordeal. (Again, this is assuming that he done me double dirty, rather than vice versa.)
Sure, I’d be upset, but what I know about my nature makes me believe that I would not be sitting in Hawaii (with a cabana boy on each boob and a Pina Colada in each fist) thinking, “HAH! Serves the rat bastard right!” I think I’d be sitting, contemplatively watching a brilliant sunset, maybe crying a little, and thinking, "Well, I wish it hadn’t happened this way, and life’s going to suck for a little while, but I’ve always wanted to go to Hawaii, and at least I’m getting this amazing sunset out of the deal . . . "
I just really feel like the act of taking that symbol of my heartbreak and turning it into something for which I could be grateful (on a positive, not vengeful, level) would go along way towards helping me heal.
And truly, if that act did involve a trip to Hawaii, I’d be much more likely to invite a close friend who would espouse my attitude of positivity and gratitude and not spend the weekend trying to get me loaded and trash-talking Skip (FTR, I know that’s what your friends are supposed to do when you get dumped, but I’ve never found it helpful–in fact, I usually prefer to concentrate on whatever positive qualities I feel I can still respect, and maybe even like (if not love) in the ex, because thinking of him as a stank and worthless hemorrhoid on the ass of life just makes me feel like an idiot for having ever loved him) than I would to invite Greg Allman.
Um, never mind the fact that I don’t actually know Greg Allman . . .
That said, you’re right, Davebear–not only am I an extremely–ahem–young 33, but I’m the youngest child in my family, and Daddy’s Princess to boot; I’ve got entitlement oozing out my potato gun hole.
Anyway, thanks for the responses! I stand humbled by the knowledge that both Judge Judy and Miss Manners have opposing views to mine.
(But who can trust Miss Manners after that whole “reading at the table” thing? One of my favorite ways to treat myself is to go and buy a stack of magazines (I am addicted to magazines), then waltz into a restaurant and read away! And one of the things I’m happily anticipating about marriage to Skip is communal “Silent Reading Time” over a big, fatty Sunday breakfast. No reading at the table–pah!)
it depends on the nature of the breakup. Under the best of circumstances, the ring should go back to the giver. However, if I was a girl engaged to a man, and found him cheating, I’d sell the ring and keep the money. If the woman is cheating, she’d be a *&^%# not to give the ring back.
Hell yeah! Where does it say that I actually have to pay attention to cow once I’ve bought her–
Wait. That can’t end well.
Dude, over an artery-clogging Sunday repast, I can ignore auntie em with the best of 'em! Now, if I could only find that “ignore” button in real life…
I’d probably see it all worn down because of auntie em’s frantic pushing of it in a desperate attempt to get me to disappear.
Darling, no need. All I’d have to do is give you a pretty little book with a pretty little unicorn on the cover, and shuttle you off into a corner–I wouldn’t see you for the next 10 days.
Make it a pink unicorn doing girlie things and you have a deal!
In my case, the engagement ring is handed into custody of a shady goldsmith and you don’t see it for (counting…) three months. Oh, but we’re still married.
Please tell me you’re writing your own vows, all alliterave-like.
Mine will be in semaphore. But I’ll try to work in some alliterations for you and send you pictures. 