I need this ring, and I'm not even engaged! There's a reservoir of envy inside of me and it's tapped out for the bride who is lucky enough to find a man--a masculine man--with grit and swagger to put this on her finger. My God!
Now I'm left in a predicament of self-loathing. Not because I'm without the damn ring, or a man for that matter, but because I've got two 20/20 eyes glued to the 2.7 carat Nepalese ruby on my right hand. "How could I possibly want more," says the man who calls it a "blood clot."
And that's the point, I should be grateful for what I have. Yes. Thank you very much Winston; you're a noble man for unveiling just one of my deadly sins.
(Catches the attention of the bartender...)