My (engaged) friend recently showed me the article “Your Engagement Ring is Hideous” on TSM and, suffice to say, she was confused. One, she didn’t understand why someone else had the final say on the beauty of her matrimonial gift or two, how it related to being a sorority woman. At first, I was inclined to agree with her, and then I remembered: Ihave the final say on everything! I also just passed through the Christmas season and watched some friends get engaged, and I think targeting just the ring is playing it safe. Luckily, your good friend Rachel is here to tell you exactly how to live your life, and more importantly, your pledge of betrothal.

So here is why your engagement personally offends me.

1. The size of your diamond isn’t causing you wrist pain.

Believe me, ladies, I understand that puppieschocolaterespectcheese-fries diamonds are a girl’s best friend, so don’t focus on that person you call your best friend that you’re marrying -- focus on that rock! Everyone knows the four C’s of the diamond world are cut, clarity, color, and colossal. The minimum size you should be willing to receive is “so big I can ski off of it.” And yes, I did say diamond. This is a tradition that dates back hundreds ofalmost a whole hundred years, and that one company chose diamonds so you must as well! I can’t stand all these rings that include sapphires, emeralds, or pearls because they might be meaningful. Like a jewel passed down through your family for generations, or your birthstone? Ew. Don’t forget to tell your gents: go Kanye or go home.

2. You’re clogging up my Instagram feed with joy.

How is no one getting this? Instagram is for very filtered selfies with meaningful quotes and French bulldogs in costumes. Sometimes both at the same time. I don’t want to see the people I care about truly happy -- that’s just crazy. I just want people to be excited for me, all the time, without having to feel the same for others. And really, it’s a waste of my time. I don’t want to see your photographs so I can build a repertoire of things I would like. And furthermore, I don’t want to see the wedding crafts you successfully crafted. That’s what Pinterest is for, so then I can rest assured that the DIY I’m attempting is more-or-less impossible, but at least no one else will be able to pull it off either.

3. You got engaged at a time I deem tacky.

The winter holiday season is a terrible time to get engaged. Nothing about that season has anything to do with love, commitment, promise, or joy. Sneaky engagements on December 26 after she’s let her guard down? Starting out your new year with a fiancé instead of a list of things you’ll maybe probably not do? Ugh, gross. Luckily I can’t even see your pictures through my tears, which are definitely not from your endearing proposal. Valentine’s Day is out, too, along with your birthday, his birthday, and your anniversary. Engagements have a mandatory “Luke-I-Am-Your-Father” level of surprise, and those holidays are too obvious. The Fourth of July, Memorial Day, Labor Day, and definitely Flag Day are all out because nothing is more important than ‘Murica. This rule also applies to people who don’t live in the United States. I don’t like August because it’s kind of pollen-y down here and the humidity makes my hair look like a poodle, and in March my wardrobe still only consists of over-sized sweatshirts, so the only acceptable proposal month is probably September.

Wait, I’ve switched to first person. Was that a mistake? Definitely not, because it brings us to our most important reason your engagement personally offends me.

4. It wasn’t me getting engaged.

I can’t stand your engagement because it’s not me! It all makes sense now. You see, despite the number of tabs I’ve left open on my boyfriend's laptop or the amount of times we’ve been shopping and I took a wrong turn and accidentally drove us to Jared’s, I am not engaged. Despite the fact I know statistically I am going to be married eventually, dangit, I want it now! It’s my toy and I don’t like you playing with it. At least I think that’s how the rule works, I can’t remember, I went to public school.

Anyway, that’s the deal. Unless your ring is a size seven halo with side stones on a rose gold band, it’s not the right ring. How else would I hijack your beach proposal by driving up on a jet ski, snatching the ring, and riding off into the sunset? You have to be considerate here. Remember, it’s my life that’s important.