We went in to look at wedding rings today. Nick wants to do a little recon before he makes a final decision, you know, to see what the married men are wearing these days, but we have mine selected and purchased now anyhow. I suppose it has to be difficult for a man to wrap his head around wearing a ring for the rest of his life. It occurred to me while he was looking at styles that he probably has no idea as to what his ring size might be.
But then, apparently I am a little off as well. I’ve never made a secret that my left ring finger ring size was last measured at five-and-a-half. In fact, I think I have made every effort to make that bit of information known, in the event that my significant other wants to get all sneaky and pick out an engagement ring without my input. That worked out pretty good for me, huh? Especially when your significant other has excellent taste.
For the last month or so, however, I have been deathly afraid that I was going to accidentally flush my ring down the toilet, or that it would fall off without my notice while I was walking about. I am so scared that I will lose it that I have come to keep that one finger pad touching my palm (when I don’t need the finger for anything productive, of course). You see, in 2010, a five-and-a-half is too loose. That’s right, my already unattractive bony fingers have grown bonier as I have aged.
So, we ordered an extremely beautiful matching wedding band in a five, which is still loose but comfortably so, and I gave the jeweler my ring to be sized smaller. Every now and then, I catch myself reliving my worst nightmare: oh no! Check the toilet! Pull apart the pipes! I’ve flushed my engagement ring!
I’ll have it back in a week, but between now and then, Nick better hide the wrenches.