So the other day it was like eighty degrees. Yeah, now it’s about forty, but whatever. So I went into the woods to see if the morels were up yet. (They weren’t.)
And a big ol’ bramble branch hauled off and whacked me on the hand. One of the thorns hit just right (meaning wrong) and popped me in a vein and blew it. In case you’re lucky enough not to know, blowing a vein is what the nurses call it when a vein is punctured or gives out under the skin and blood pops out all inside there.
By the next day, my wedding ring was cutting off circulation in that finger, so I moved the ring to my pinkie. Yep. You guessed it. The ring fell off somewhere, here at home or at Mom’s house. So far, I haven’t turned it up in searching.
Fortunately, Charlie never wears his matching band. He insisted he wanted one, but I won’t let him wear it. One of his brothers mashed his ring into his finger while messing with logs, and had to have it cut off. The ring, not his finger. Charlie messes with logs a lot, so I won’t let him wear his ring.
When I was expecting, I ballooned up so big I had to wear Charlie’s wedding band. And now I’m wearing it again.
I’m posting today at Fatal Foodies about Roasted Veg casserole.
A WRITING PROMPT FOR YOU: Write about a lost ring.