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By Jill Soloway

I hate diamonds.

I hate them.

I work on a TV show and the prop chick was fooling around one day and she let me try on this diamond ring that looked really real and really big and I wore it around for a few days.

And every single woman, every single woman I went near, came up to me and said, "OOOHHHHHHH MY GOOOOODDDDDDD," as if to say "YOU FINALLY GOT ONE! AND SUCH A BIIIIG ONE!!!!!!!! FINALLY!!!! JILL GOT ONE! SHE GOT ONE!!!!"

Me, I'm not that way so much, I see a big diamond on someone's finger and I say (high-pitched, fake-happy) "Wow!" but I'm actually thinking BLARGURGH or FLUGHVOMIT or some other sound that means I want to choke on my own soul. It's the same sound my respiratory system made when I saw that ad in the NY Times magazine section. It had two diamond rings. Next to the smaller one: it said 'Thank You Honey'. Next to the bigger one it said: 'Thank You God'.

It's the noise of my nervous system collapsing, like the way I felt when a fellow comedy writer giggled and said, "Ladies love gems. Don't know why but it's something I've learned. Ladies just love gems." He said it all the time, just snortingly giggling about the fact that when all was said and added up, yeah, sure we won the right to vote and talk and some of us even get paid to use our brains to write comedy like him and his fucking Harvard fucks, but when it came down to it, all of us could be bought for a rock.

There's this woman I know. Besides her diamond engagement ring and the diamond wedding band, each time she gave birth to one of her two sons, her husband brought her a diamond necklace. In the hospital. Good job, honey. Thanks for ripping your pussy open. Matthew Broderick gave Sarah Jessica Parker a $50,000 diamond charm bracelet in the hospital. Kobe gave his wife a four million dollar "I'm sorry I raped someone" diamond. Ben gave JLO a billionty dollar pink diamond. White diamonds aren't enough, now we need PINK DIAMONDS to really be special. I saw chocolate diamonds on Extra just last week. Brown diamonds, CHOCOLATE DIAMONDS. Can you tell I'm screaming right now? If you're reading this to yourself, you should be screaming anything in all caps in your mind.


Do they know something I don't know? Are they different than me because their feet look right in a strappy sandal, their toes don't look absurd when painted, like mine do, like donut holes with red dots on them, they know exactly what to do when someone slides their chair in for them? Me, I scoot, I'll make a loud scraping noise with my chair, but these women who get diamonds, I bet they glide into the table. They chew right and they sip right, which is something I don't do.

I store my sip of coffee in my cheeks before I swallow it, like a chipmunk with a spring's worth of nuts. This is something I know I do but I can't stop doing because I don't notice I'm doing it until after I've done it.

I just don't get it, I mean, who ARE these women and WHAT are they doing for these diamonds? Do they withhold sex? Have constant sex? Give great blowjobs? Refuse to give blowjobs? Give blowjobs where at first you pretend to not really wanna be giving the blowjob but then you start to get into it and next thing you know you're just slobbering away like some diamond-deserving secret princess whore of blowjobs?

Are they mean? Are they nice? Do they scream? Do they think of themselves as a special prize that deserves special gems? Are their pussies cleaner than mine? Prettier than mine? Waxed? Unwaxed? Waxed with floor wax? Do they have giant stanky messy hairy retro bushes that don't give a shit at all, bushes that say fuck you - you're going to stick your face in this mess AND you're going to give me diamonds, WHAT IS THE FUCKING DEAL WITH THESE DIAMONDS?

Are they gifts of light for women who agree to be left in the dark? Are they a gift for innocence? You've been faithful to me for three more years, here's another diamond. You've been raising my children for seven years, your market value has fallen, here's some more diamonds. Your face is falling cuz you've been yelling at our children, so you have that line between your eyebrows and I have no idea what you'll get in the settlement when we split but I hope this rock buys me a few more months of peace in this house, here's another diamond. There's a hole in your soul because you gave up everything for me, is this rock big enough for that hole? What the fuck are these women doing for these diamonds?

Maybe I'm mad at diamonds because they're a prize for something I'm not good at. I guarantee you if women got diamonds for manic ranting or talking dirty or loud gum smacking, I wouldn't have a problem with diamonds. Fuck the enslaved South African elves or armless children who have to climb down these dirty mines, fuck fashion fascism, de Beers and politics, maybe what bugs me about diamonds is that I'm just not good at getting them.

Maybe you get diamonds for not being angry.

Some people say, hey. Jill. What's with all the anger?

And it's true, I do, I have rage, I have all kinds of rage about all kinds of things, not just how no one cares about feminism anymore but a what the fuck rage, this rage that's worse in the morning coffee fueled serotonin rush, where I can be driving to work and on the radio hear 2000 Factory Cash Back on Siena and I get mad. For no reason. Okay, well, there's clearly a reason there- it should be 2000 Factory cash back on A Siena or on THE Sienna but they just say ON SIENA like we're all just supposed to just intuitively know that car names don't need articles before them anymore.

Or sometimes just the word Toyotathon can enrage me.

And I know, I know that's no way for a lady to act. But hey, if I didn't have my anger, I wouldn't be me. And I wouldn't be typing manically right now, and I wouldn't have a computer, I'd just be sitting here in a chair, and I'd probably sit wrong, I would. I sit like a guy which is another reason I don't get diamonds, I don't sit like a lady.

So I'll be here, practicing, on the other side of this computer, or somewhere far off beyond this page you are reading, trying to act more like a lady,

trying to be secretive and coy and something to look at

I'll try to be pretty and italic

Instead of YELLING

And I'll let you know if it works

And if I ever get any

Of those god damned diamonds.

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