Lesson Learned

When the Man and I were first married and still in college, we went to a regional conference for newlyweds. It was held in university's basketball auditorium, which is huge. The conference was pretty full but we managed to find seats way up the cement steps in what would have been the cheap seats, if it were a game night.

There was a couple seated behind us and just to the side enough that I could see them out of the corner of my eye. The husband was playing with his wedding band. He wasn't just twisting it, he was flipping it around on his fingertip, using centrifugal force to keep it going. Unfortunately, that wasn't enough to keep it on his finger. Within moments, we heard the distinct sound of metal clinking down the cement stairs. Uh oh...the wife was absolutely livid and soundly chastised him for being so careless. She was threatening to not replace the ring when we noticed a movement in the seats well below us. Slowly, row by row, a man's wedding band was handed up. You can be sure that his ring stayed firmly on his finger for the rest of the conference.

So why am I telling you this funny story? Because apparently, the Man doesn't like to learn from the mistakes of others. Last week, he was headed down into the basement and, while stomping down the stairs, twirled his wedding ring around his fingertip. And guess what? It went flying off, clunked down the dark stairway and then disappeared into the cardboard abyss that is our basement.

Uh oh.

Understandably, he was hesitant to tell me what had happened. But actually, I wasn't upset. It wasn't like he'd lost it in a public place; we knew where it was just not the specific location. Also, I wasn't entirely heartbroken because, well, I am an impulsive person and tend to make big decisions without much thought. So inscribed inside his wedding ring, instead of the usual initials or wedding date or "PUT ME BACK ON!", I put a rather odd phrase. In French, no less. Yeah. Kinda weird, as neither of us speak French or have been to France. So him losing his ring was really more like getting a re-do with the inscription thing.

In the following days, whenever he went downstairs, he would search another area, looking for his white gold band. Saturday, he disappeared into the basement again. I thought he was getting things ready to finish off the never-ending project of painting the living room (another post when I've had more chocolate). Nope. He was looking for his ring. And he found it. It wasn't where he thought it was, lost among the storage. It never made it that far. Our basement is unfinished so the stairs are just plain wood with a little gap to the side for carpet. The ring had fallen into that gap, which happened to not be entirely up to code and was partially open to the interior of the wall. He tried to dig it out but ended up nudging it the wrong way and plunk! The ring fell inside the wall. When he tried to explain this to me, ninety minutes later, covered in sweat, drywall dust, and insulation fibers, I didn't quite understand, so he took me downstairs and showed me what it took to get his ring out of the wall:


Wow! He really wanted that ring back! He must love me more than that tiny storage space underneath the stairs. So after he cleaned it well, the Man placed his ring firmly back on his finger. And there it stays.