
When I was a young girl in the olden days of the 1970s I would love to thumb through my mother’s “high fashion” catalogs, which invariably meant Sears, J.C. Penney, and maybe, MAYBE Montgomery Ward. The Sears Catalog of course ruled; it was twice as thick as a phone book and chock fulls of Dorothy Hamill-coiffed cuties in shimmery fuchsia disco frocks and little girls much like me in pigtails and denim pantsuits. I was in love...until a somewhat swankier glossy arrived on our doorstep, namely the Ross Simons jewelry catalog.
My heart raced as I pored over its diamond-studded pages, each ring, bracelet, and necklace grander than the last. I’d mark it up with a wish list of goodies, including the engagement ring that I would undoubtedly receive once Jack Tripper met and fell in love with me. We’d of course wed on the beach in Santa Monica followed by a low-key, yet tasteful reception at the Regal Beagle and then live happily ever after.