See that dent on the ring finger of my left hand?
That’s where my wedding ring is supposed to be.
As we were getting in bed Tuesday night, I had a start — the ring was gone, and I had no idea when I had seen it last.
I looked some that night, even though it was close to midnight and I really needed some sleep. I looked more on Wednesday — around my desk at work, in my car, and again in the house — and found nothing.
Mrs. Crappy is even bringing home a borrowed metal detector — one of those ones the weathered old guys in aloha shirts use on beach — and I’m going to comb the yard over the weekend. I cut the grass on Tuesday evening, and I supposed it could have fallen off out there someplace.
I feel lost without it. I moved my engagement ring — the one Mrs. Crappy bought for me in Athens the day after I proposed on College Green — but that’s not the same.
I’m not sure I’m going to find it anywhere. I could always replace it, but this is one of the few Things I own that isn’t really replaceable. I can have another ring on that finger, but it won’t be the one that Mrs. Crappy put there on Sept. 25, 1999.