Several weeks ago, I lost my wedding ring.
It wasn’t my fault so much as the fault of clothes designers who believe that women don’t need pockets. I’d tucked my ring into the traditional female security deposit area and forgot about it until I changed for bed. Too late, I did quick check: the ring had dropped somewhere on the floor and was lost.
I warned DJ that I was going into society without a ring. “Aren’t you worried that I’m going to be fighting off men now that I’m obviously single?”
DJ didn’t seem to be overly worried.
As the days went by and I didn’t find the ring, I didn’t make a big fuss about it. It wasn’t anything fancy or expensive, as far as wedding rings went. In fact, I toyed with the idea of commemorating our 15th anniversary by getting a really distinctive, personalized ring. I browsed Etsy and Pinterest and found some real candidates.
Meanwhile, I got used to a bare finger. And apparently all those wolfish men lying in wait are extremely unobservant when a ringless woman appears in their midst.
When we got a little extra money in, DJ offered it to me for a new ring. But then, on one of our hot dates, we browsed a furniture store. A wild thought took hold of us: “What if we bought a real bedframe, with a headboard and footboard, for the first time in our whole marriage?”
And we did it. I reconciled myself to ringless existence at the mercy of all those wolfish men — wherever they were — and we bought a bedstead.
It’s exciting to climb into real bed and feel like adults instead of a couple of college kids with our mattress on a metal bedframe.
While I was moving the mattress and box spring to make room for the delivery guys, I sifted through the stuff under the bed… and spotted a thin gold band inset with twelve diamonds.
My happiness at that moment belied all that philosophical detachment as I browsed Etsy looking for the perfect wedding band. The ring isn’t fancy or expensive, but it’s an old friend of mine. I was thrilled to see it again.
Happy (early) anniversary to me.