One carat rings

Tonight we went to my financial adviser's annual address.  It's... an annual thing.  It used to be downtown at the Fairmont and there was free wine and appies, but then the recession hit.  Now it's held in various locales and the one we routinely attend is in West Van, which is fun because it's probably the wealthiest enclave in Canada and three or four years in I still can't make it to the post-address dessert table. 
Really. 
Really. 
Just give me my fucking free pastries you septuagenarians with your exuberant sense of self-entitlement and your incredibly large engagement rings (I pointed to one of them and whispered "Do you think that is a one carat diamond?" and then later indicated that is what I would like in my life to make me happy).
After I parked my 1999 Honda Civic (ahem, the EX model) in the parking lot I said, "Don't let these other cars make you feel bad.  You're just as good as they are.  And please don't tell anyone that this Mac and Jac blazer is second hand."
That's about the extent of it.
Oh, except for when the cashier at Safeway held up my de-alcoholized wine and double checked with me that I knew that it was, in fact, de-alcoholized wine.  I said that yes, I understood what I was buying and that surely it was as good as it sounded.  He laughed.
Basically I'm just really anxious about tomorrow because I hate Valentine's Day, but I do get all warm and tingly about this.