If you looked up love-hate relationship in my dictionary, you'd probably see a picture of a diamond. Isn't it beautiful? Just look at the way it sparkles, at its depth...it's just a tiny little thing, but it looks like you could jump into it and swim around, caressed by the purest and cleanest shiny...I mean, I hate it! I am not that vain or materialistic or shallow.

The folks at DTC (weren't they the peeps who used to be DeBeers?) are on to me. Their dastardly scheme is to disgust me with commercials about how women desperately need something called a right hand ring this Valentine's Day, knowing that it will draw me to their website so as to find material to mock on my blog. They know that once I'm there, the pretty rings in the fancy Flash displays will make me forget all about my righteous indignation.

Let me be clear: it really bothers me that there's a market for this crap. I have all kinds of self-satisfied disdain for women who expect men to show their affection by buying them expensive baubles they can wear to make other women jealous. I can't understand how some people see no problem with spending thousands of dollars on a trinket to adorn their hand when people in their own community struggle to pay one month's power bill, and I don't want to understand it.

But wow, diamonds are pretty. Not just pretty, but powerful. There's something enchanting and poetic about them, something that makes me want them in spite of my moral objections to the kind of conspicuous consumption their possession represents.

So yeah, DTC, I took your stupid quiz, and I found out that I'm a Dazzling Diva, "sexy, confident, and comfortable in the spotlight," and I need this on my hand if I want to touch a man's arm with full flirtatious effect. Diva?! What kind of self-centered, manipulative prima donna do you think I am? Huh? Answer me, DTC! And while you're at it, answer me this: you got that in a 5?