When it came time to get married, I didn’t wanna wear a ring.
Like, I know it’s a thing people do, but I’ve never been a fan of rings. I’m not really a jewelry person.
I’d met some people who had tattooed wedding rings, and I thought that was pretty nifty, but no one else did. I don’t have any tattoos, and I’m not really a tattoo person, but still, pretty nifty.
I decided to use my mother’s mother’s mother’s ring. It’s white gold and has five settings, the birthstones of her children, and the baby she lost. My cousin’s wife took it in and had one setting changed so that the stones actually represented our birthstones, our children’s birthstones, and Drew’s. I thought that was quite clever. I always say I’m going to go and get the settings changed, add Sassy and Moo and one for the baby we lost. I seldom wear that ring, so I seldom think about it.
At our wedding, my judge friend was supposed to officiate, but his mother passed, so stupid random substitute judge went on about my gold band (uh, white gold, but sure..) and Christ’s bond to the church (why does he think we got married outdoors with a judge?) Did I mention we should’ve eloped? If I have one honest regret, it’s that.
I didn’t wear my wedding ring much at all for about a year. Then one day I was out with Bubba, Sissy, Simon, and another child, and I realized that the salesclerk was looking for my wedding ring. To this salesclerk, I realized I looked about 15, with four kids in steps from at least two different baby daddies.
Simon always looks like my love child.
I decided to wear my wedding ring.
Really, I wished I could wear my birth certificate and my college diploma, but what’s a girl to do?
Eventually, I was pregnant, and pregnant again, so I really hated rings, and shoes, and clothes, and anyone touching me. I didn’t swell or anything, but I think my touch threshold was slim. I wore my father’s plain gold band then.
In contrast, The Mister wore his ring faithfully, until he somehow managed to fry it on a car battery, searing his skin and warping his band. I can’t judge him too much, I still get burned while I cook.
I bought him another band, just a cheapy silver thing, but he cleaned it in the gold jewelry cleaner, because man.
When we got to Ft Stewart, wedding rings were this really big deal. (Anything that showed status was a really big deal.) Some other Army wife at a party told me, “He could die, and you don’t even have a diamond from him!” Good gravy. Least of my worries.
The following week, The Mister bought me a diamond ring. It’s lovely. Antique looking, platinum setting, dainty. I wore it religiously for years, God forbid he died without giving me a diamond. I sometimes wear it, even though last year, one of the smallest diamonds fell out and I haven’t had it fixed.
During this time, The Mister did not wear his wedding band, which was okay, because he worked with lotsa mechanical shit. Eventually, in personnel, he began wearing his third band, titanium, and we all joked about his sudden and recent marriage.
In 2008, on our anniversary, The Mister gave me a peridot ring, set in two-tone gold. I love it. I wear it a lot.
That ring was cleverly purchased in a ruse. Per The Mister, True called to ask me about how to determine her ring size. I recall standing in my kitchen, thinking she’d lost her mind, “No your ring size isn’t the same as your shoe size just because mine is. That’s just how I remember it.” It was a bizarre conversation which didn’t make sense for days. You know, until the ring showed up.
I’m still not a ring person. I often go out in public without a ring on, and I no longer care what assumptions people make.
Rings get in the way of gardening, massages, washing my hair, sewing, cooking, especially baking…
I just found out that before our wedding, my evil aunt despised the idea that I’d ever get hold of my other grandmother’s rings and insisted they be returned to her. I guess it should hurt my feelings, when in reality, I could not care less. I think it may have hurt her brother’s feelings, though.
I got the painting, and that’s all I wanted.
I don’t recall my grandmother wearing anything but a plain gold band. I don’t think she cared much for stuff and things.
In our experience, gold, silver, or platinum — rings don’t endure the way a marriage does.