I keep reminding myself of this each time I walk past a jeweller’s and find myself drawn by the sparkle of solitaires set in white gold, the twinkle of a one-carat princess cut or the car accident-like

horror of the pear.

Putting engagement rings in store windows is like putting confectionery at the checkouts; we know we probably won’t get one today, but we nag all the same.

Like a cat staring after fish in a tank, our eyes pick up the glitter of diamonds as we walk down the street for lunch, go out for a movie or do the groceries.

When we’re single we look at men’s ring fingers – single, married, wow great cuticles – damn. Gay.

But as women in a relationship – happy, loving, committed – let me tell you, it’s about lady bling.

Already I can hear you saying, “listen to this cold-hearted wench, chasing rings like she’s some sort of hobbit. Who does she think she is?”

Yes, I will grant you, I am quite short, but there’s more behind our desire for a rock than just wanting “another pretty thing”.

I have been down that road, accused of wanting to get engaged for the sake of being engaged.

Of wanting no more than that chunk of ice perched upon my ring

finger.

And then I actually did get engaged, to a guy I had been with for seven years, and I realised it had nothing to do with bling or sparkle or carat.

Fortunately for both of us it turns out, we broke up six months into our engagement, but the experience deepened my whole appreciation for the idea of the ring and what it actually represents.

So it surprised me no end to learn recently that guys put a similar value on this expensive token.

We don’t often give men much credit when it comes to expressions of love and affection.

We lament over many wines with our girlfriends about the decided lack of cuddles, flowers, chocolates, surprise dinners and spontaneous serenades outside our office window … or is that just me?