I’m not one for wearing jewelry or bling to accentuate my otherwise ordinary appearance, so you can imagine how hard it was to get used to an engagement ring on my finger. For starters, it was two gauges too big. The infinity symbol would twist around my finger and hang down like the balls of a squirrel. I would jerk my hand to point at something or wave and the ring would go flying through the air. I was afraid of dropping it in the toilet when flushing so I cut back on my bathroom trips and held it in more. It was starting to get unhealthy so finally we went and got my finger fitted.
“You have really small hands,” the salesman at Tiffany’s said slipping various sized metal rings around my finger. I forget what gauge we ended up with, but I wanted to go smaller, just to be sure. “No you don’t want to go smaller,” the salesman said. “Then you won’t to be able to get it off your finger.” He could see that I was still nervous about losing the ring. “It is cold in here so that makes your finger smaller. Once you get outside, it will expand.” For a few days I walked around breathing on the finger every time I entered a cold room. “My precious,” I would huff onto my shriveled, yellow finger.
Then I became worried that I would somehow ruin the ring. I thought I would snag it on something and one of the diamonds would fall out or it would rust if it came into contact with water. I made sure to take it off before getting into the shower or going to the gym. But then Sebastien would find it lying around the house. He would bring it to me with that look parents sometimes give to their kids when they have done something wrong. I would shrug in response. It wasn’t my fault, really. He should have known that I couldn’t be trusted with an expensive ring. We have lifetime warranties on all of our furniture because I can’t be trusted with nice things. It’s a sickness.
After a few weeks, I started to get into a routine. I would put the ring in the jewelry box before taking a shower or going to bed. But then I would forget to put it on the following day. I would go to meet friends who were interested in my wedding preparations. “Have you picked out a dress–” they would notice that the ring was missing from my finger and go quiet.
“Oh, I, uh, I forgot it,” I would say and spend the rest of the day feeling guilty. But is it really such a crime? Is this ring so sacrosanct that I should rearrange my entire life to ensure that it is always on my finger or in a safe place?
I just don’t know how other women do it. My grandma was married for over 50 years and she kept that ring on her finger every day.In fact, I think she still wears it now. Of course, it wouldn’t surprise me if over the years the ring just melted into her finger and is now a permanent fixture on her frail hand. I bet she never had a problem forgetting the ring.
I mean if wearing the ring meant I ruled the world or could go invisible at my leisure then I would…no, I would probably lose that too and destroy the world.