Have Dental Floss, Will Travel

Mapping the world, one waxy strand at a time…

Confessions of a Fidgeter, Part Two

Where was I?

Ah yes, the great ring debacle of 2009…

So, we had forgotten about the steering wheel incident and went about living our ring-wearing lives as usual.

I continued to fidget.  Brent continued to tease me.  And at the end of the day, the ring remained on my finger.

That is, until last Tuesday.

Up until this fall, I didn’t wear my engagement ring.  It wasn’t that I disliked it – on the contrary, I loved the green sapphire nestled into the raised swirled setting that Brent and I designed together with the help of a local jeweler.  [I wish I had a picture – that description doesn’t quite do it justice.]  But I never got used to wearing two rings on my finger, so once we got married, I swapped my engagement ring for my wedding band, and only thought to bring out the former on special occasions.

When I started teaching, though, I decided that I should wear them both.  There was no real logic to this decision.  It just seemed like the right thing to do.  An engagement would make me look older, perhaps.  Or more formal – a nice contrast to matchstick corduroy pants and cowlneck sweaters…

Like I said, no logic.

So, Tuesday… I was driving to work at 5:30 in the morning.  It was dark out.  There was a steaming bowl of oatmeal sitting in the passenger seat, waiting to be eaten.  And – irony of ironies – I was not fidgeting.

I pulled through the EZ-Pass lane and onto the Pennsylvania Turnpike, and as I rounded a sharp curve, I saw the bowl began to slide.

I shot my hand out to steady my breakfast, and felt my engagement ring slip down my finger.  Before I knew what was happening, the ring had flown off my hand.  I couldn’t see where it landed, but I heard it clink against something metal, or plastic.

Well, I reasoned, I’m in a contained car.  The windows are closed and the doors are locked.  It’s not like it’s going anywhere.  I’ll just find it when I get to school.

Makes sense, right?

An hour later, I pulled into the parking lot and looked around.

No ring.

I reached down and pawed under the seat.

Nothing.

I walked around the car, opened the passenger side door, and scanned the front seat.

Still coming up empty.

I spent half an hour tearing my car apart that morning, and Brent and I searched for an additional hour when I got home that night.  I happened to have an appointment at the dealer the next day for inspection, and I asked them to look as well.

“Sorry,” the mechanic told me.  “My guys scoured the entire car, and they couldn’t find anything.”

Brent and I searched one more time for good measure, but it was to no avail.

It was official.  My car had eaten my engagement ring.
Thank goodness for personal insurance.  I filed a claim at the end of last week (try explaining this one to the agent…), and sometime soon, I’ll be able to go back to the local jeweler and ask him to remake the ring.
So what’s the lesson in all of this?
I think it’s pretty obvious.
If I had been fidgeting with my ring that morning, maybe it would still be on my finger today.
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3 responses to “Confessions of a Fidgeter, Part Two

  1. Pingback: The Usual Breakfast Conversation « Have Dental Floss, Will Travel

  2. Pingback: Psychotherapy 101 « Have Dental Floss, Will Travel

  3. Pingback: Confessions of a Fidgeter, Part Three « Have Dental Floss, Will Travel

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