Nearly nineteen years ago, my husband and I stood beside a trickling waterfall and pledged our devotion, and I can probably count on one hand the number of times I've taken my wedding ring off since then. Until last night. Now it has been nearly 20 hours since I took the ring off and slipped it in my jewelry box. Taking it off is such a short phrase for the intense tugging I had to do to remove the ring from my finger.
"It looks like it's cutting into your finger," my daughter commented.
Look, none of us remain the exact same size we were 19 years ago.
And, after nearly a whole day has passed, the deep indentation remains on my finger, as if the ring is still there.
And so does the bright red spot that prompted me to remove it. I'm not sure if it's an outbreak of poison ivy or I scratched it or irritated my finger, but the rubbing of the gold against my finger was not helping. So I took off the ring and called my husband to warn him.
"It's not that I plan to leave you," I said. "It's just this weird spot on my finger."
Today, my husband looked under his glasses at the place on my finger and recommended neosporin.
"Aren't you worried to have me walking around without a weeding ring?" I asked.
Then I laughed and held up my hand again and showed him the deep groove.
"You have to rub it, get some circulation going," he suggested.
Hey! How does he know? Has he done this before?
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