Marty was a silver-haired biker with a ZZ-Top-style beard. Late one Friday evening, he walked into an upscale jewelry shop with a blonde bombshell on his arm.
“I’m looking for a diamond ring for my sweetie,” Marty said.
The jeweler had seen enough eccentric millionaires. He wasn’t put off by the leathers or the beard. He pulled out a tray of lovely rings. “These are in the three- to five-thousand-dollar range,” he said.
“Oh, no sir! I want to see something much bigger than that.”
The blonde looked at Marty adoringly.
The jeweler pulled out a tray from another part of the counter. “Here are some in the ten- to fifteen-thousand-dollar range.”
The young lady was nearly dancing on her toes.
Marty said, “Bigger.”
The jeweler went into the back room and came back with a single ring on a velvet pillow. It was a glittering diamond solitaire. “This is the biggest stone we have. The ring costs fifty thousand dollars.”
“Okay,” says Marty, with the woman clinging to him like a limpet on a rock. “I’ll write you a check. Monday morning you take the check to my bank and cash it. Monday afternoon, I’ll come in and pick up the ring.”
The jeweler agreed. But when Marty came back on Monday afternoon, the jeweler said, “I went to the bank, but you don’t have nearly enough in your account to cover this.”
“I know. But can you imagine what a weekend I had?”
