Ever since I became Home-Rehab Harriet, I’ve been obsessed with Craigslist. Not the personals—that glimpse into modern mating rituals is beyond me—but the “for sale” category, which already has coughed up an armoire and French dresser that I’ve made lovely for a song. Every morning I read the listings, and they never fail to fascinate me. The guy in Howard Beach selling a white polar bear rug for $35,000. The Upper East Side denizen charging $1,100 for her broken lamp. The Bay Ridge lady selling used soap, deodorant, and razors. Such an opportunity to practice compassion for humanity in all its spiky forms, this Craigslist.
The engagement rings in particular break my heart. I’d love to follow up on each ad but, having burned through at least eight lives, content myself with merely imagining the stories behind them. In haiku form, no less.
Enjoy this diamond/ My predilection for cads/ Is your happy gain
Take this ring from me/ Its owner has left this world/ I need no reminder
Jim and Joe got wed/Twas legal, government said/Now the sex is dead
He slept with the maid/ Our love was zirconium/ Only ring is real
We are still in love/ But so broke, cold and hungry/ Need cash more than ring
If I’d said to him/ Serious offers only/ I’d not need this ad
Divorce is hairy/ My advice: do not marry/ Yes: cash and carry!
A ring is a ring/is a ring is a ring is/a ring. Is a ring.
The stone is flawless/ But her loyalty was not/ I took back the ring
Feel free to send more, if you are so inspired.