Tony and I went on a date last night.  It’s been awhile since we’ve gone to a nice restaurant and caught up.

The point of this post, however, is not to enlighten you on our conversation (or better yet, the details of watching Tony shovel 3 tacos and a club sandwich in his mouth).  The post is actually about what an idiot I proved I can be on the way home from dinner.

So I have this gorgeous little engagement ring…don’t think I mentioned it yet, but I’m sure you deduced that engagement usually equals engagement ring.  I have tiny fingers and the ring fits just a little loose.  Not enough that I’ve ever had problems with it slipping off, but it has a bit of a sloppy fit. 

For some reason, though, yesterday it was driving me particularly nuts.  I have no idea why it felt looser (in fact, I ate half a bag of salty chips the day before so really, my fingers should have been puffed up like little marshmallows).  Anyhow, as Tony was driving, I thought it’d be a good idea to not only tell him how loose the ring felt, but to visually show him how loose it was by waving my hand violently in front of his face and showing how the ring slips down to my knuckle.  (Side note, don’t drive with me.  I tend to find ways to be distracting).

And lo and behold, as I’m getting extra animated about driving the point home I feel the ring slip off the finger completely and then…quiet.  Followed by Tony laughing at me as what I imagine a look of pure panic crept over my face.

I started to laugh nervously and turned on the light because I figure…well, we’re in a car.  And it’s winter so (thank God) we didn’t have the windows open.  It had to be in the car somewhere.   So I started to feel around.  And then some more. 

After about 5 minutes I started to freak.  A.) I didn’t hear a clink, which means it didn’t bounce off any of the panel.  B.) Car lighting sucks. C.) What if it flew into those little openings for the air conditioning (hey, you don’t know the kind of luck I have)?

I finally made Tony pull over at a gas station under a big light while I got on my hands and knees and started to feel around under my seat, pulling up the floor mats and generally freaking the ‘f’ out, because…ok…haha, funny joke, come out, come out wherever you are!

I started getting horrible visions of the ring ending up with the unreachable quarter pile that now makes it home in the one spot my little fingers can’t reach under my passenger seat.  And while making its home amongst the outlaw quarter pile would really increase the market value of my car, it sure would be appreciated more on my ring finger.

At the exact moment I started to feel like I could possibly hurl, I looked over the edge of my purse and saw my ring balancing precariously on the top of my wallet.  Almost like “Hi Ma, I’ve been here all along.  Can we go home now?”

In its short lifespan as my engagement ring, it has also seen such exciting places as a city sidewalk (don’t ask) and the bottom of a kid’s prize bucket.  I have one of those traveling rings apparently.  Because its ability to pull great disappearing acts ala Houdini couldn’t possibly have anything to do with its owner.  That’s the story I’m sticking with.