Tag: engagement rings

Like Father, Like Son

Our son almost lost his wedding ring on his honeymoon. He was working out in the hotel’s gym, and not being used to wearing the ring, he slid it off his sweaty finger and set it on the particular machine he was working out on. He then proceeded to go up to his hotel room, pack up his things with his lovely new bride, and was about to enter a ferry boat to the next island on their itinerary, when he looked down at his hand and he realized, in a panic, that his wedding ring was gone. Frantically he called the front desk, who thankfully found the ring and had a courier get it to the newlyweds, before they entered the ferry boat. We are all so relieved for this happy ending.

My own husband is on his third wedding ring. He also lost his wedding ring on our honeymoon. The good news is, I have been with my husband, both times he has lost his ring. The bad news is, we’ve had to pay for both replacements, and my husband has very large hands. The first time my husband lost his wedding ring (on our honeymoon) was probably both of our faults. He kept saying that his ring was too big and that he would have to get it sized when we got home. However, being a young, romantic, new bride, I didn’t want him to take it off. So guess what fell off during our snorkeling adventure? We went to a jewelery store on the little island of St. Martin and purchased a replacement the very next day (did I mention that I was a young, romantic, new bride and should I say, perhaps, a little bit “possessive”?). The second time my husband lost his wedding ring, was when we were boating together, after a period of time that he had lost some weight. Since then, whenever we are around a large body of water, my husband changes out his gold wedding band for one of the black silicone plastic bands which so many of the young men seem to sport around with these days, with their active, hands-on lives.

To be clear, I am not writing this in judgment. I have already confessed to almost losing my own (and much more expensive) engagement ring in this story from the archives:

From the “No Horse Pucky” Archives

Our family has been a little careless with our wedding rings over the years. The more important thing is, we’re not careless with the love and the loyalty and the steadfastness that these rings represent.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

From the “No Horse Pucky” Archives

Fortune for the day – “Your imagination is your preview of life’s coming attractions.”- Albert Einstein

The time has come for another “No Horse Pucky” story. I haven’t recounted one of these types of stories, on the blog, in a long, long time. This story is from long ago. I wasn’t even married when it happened. I was engaged to be married, though.

It all happened in an ugly, green minivan. That particular minivan ruined minivans for me, for the rest of my life, despite a minivan’s convenient nature, which would have come in quite in handy, for a mother of a large brood like mine. You see, I was 23 years old and the ugly minivan, was an all expense paid company car. I had inherited the minivan from the previous textbook sales representative, a middle-aged family man, whose position I had taken over, after he left to go to a different company. I had sold my Barbie car (as my Dad liked to call it), a bright red, zippy Miata convertible, and I was now sporting around town in an unsightly, lumbering hunter green minivan. Blech!

Anyway, one evening on the commute home, being stuck at a long traffic light, I got distracted. I got distracted by my new, shiny, lovely engagement ring. I am, admittedly, a highly distractible driver. (My sister once said that I drive like it is an afterthought to everything else that I am doing.) I decided to take my engagement ring off, to admire it from all different angles, while waiting at the stoplight. While I was gazing adoringly at my new bauble, the light changed, and the rightfully irritated driver behind me, blew his horn loudly and long-ly. It startled me and I jumped, which made my engagement ring fall out of my hands, slide down the steering wheel column, down into a crack where the steering wheel connects into the dashboard.

At the next traffic light, I decided to use a pen to try to pry the crack open a little bit, so that I could slide my ring back up into my hands, to put it back onto its rightful finger. I pried the crack open so wide that the force of gravity swiftly swooped in, to teach me a lesson and the ring fell down into the crack, now disappearing from my sight. I started panicking, imagining that perhaps the ring had fallen out on to the road, as if the minivan was a bottomless car, the type driven by Fred Flintstone or Barney Rubble. (the van was pretty bad but not THAT bad) In my hysterical state, I cut off three lanes of traffic to take a sharp right turn into the nearest service station that happened to be right there, like a lighthouse, a great beacon of hope, in the desert of my despair.

“Help me! Help me, please. My engagement ring fell behind my steering column!” I shouted out to the man in the back corner of the garage. The man, covered in grease, eyed me up and down, suspiciously and motioned for me to pull the minivan into a stall of his garage. He dismissed my silly fears of the ring falling onto the highway and told me to go calm myself down, in his small, dumpy waiting room.

About a half hour later, the man sauntered into the waiting room, holding my engagement ring. He informed me that he had to remove the steering wheel, to retrieve my poor ring, which had been like a small, innocent, pretty animal, waiting patiently, yet desperately, at the bottom of a dark, smelly well.

“Ma’am”, he addressed me with a stern scowl on his grease-marked face. “Let this be a lesson to you. This is why we DON’T take these things off.”

No horse pucky.