FINALLY Nick and I found wedding rings.
There were (tragically!) some problems with my beautiful engagement ring, which I had initially intended to promote to wedding ring come September. I've been wearing a generic silver band on my left ring finger as a placeholder, which makes me look sort of married. I blame this for any deflected flirtation with bartenders, ice cream scoopers, avuncular mechanics, etc. But seriously, can no one in this town intuit sarcasm anymore?
Staples guy at printing counter: You don't have to stand up here and wait for your prints to finish if you don't want to.
Me, quickly glancing at name badge, and with a playful tone: Nathan. If you'd like me to leave, you can just come out and tell me so.
Staples guy, flatly: I just mean that you are free to browse the store while you wait, ma'am.
Ma'am!! OK THANKS NATHAN WE ARE CLEAR NOW.
But seriously, most aspects of a wedding are so fleeting. If your dress is imperfect, well, you only have to wear it for six hours. Besides, it is the duty of the marrying to create hilarious era-trapped wedding pictures for future generations to mock.
The wedding ring, though. The notion of something manacled to my person for keeps? Daunting. Unexpectedly, I started to feel I was selling myself short picking something really simple. What if, some day, I am an elegant worldly woman of a certain age? That woman might be a woman who appreciates precious gems! Seems unlikely, but I don't know?!
I finally came to my senses and found a lovely, carved band. A flat band of oxidized silver. Because the grade school tomboy that put holes in her plaid stirrup leggings sliding into home? Yeah, she is still in charge, basically.