This weekend I was supposed to drive to Utah to see The Boy, who’s there visiting his mom, but instead, I’m here on the couch, thanks to a nasty head cold. Thank you pediatrician’s office last week. Thank you Booger Eaters IN the pediatrician’s office who gave it to MP, who gave it to me.
No worries — he should be back this way soon. For now, the distance seems to actually be working just fine. We’re in agreement that there’s no need to rush things. We’re together, even if we’re apart. I don’t take the ring on my finger lightly, and neither does he.
Well … I don’t take the ring ITSELF lightly. I’d be lying if I said it was always on my finger. Honestly, I never got it when married guys said they didn’t wear a ring because they “didn’t do jewelry,” or “it just bugged them.” Whatever, right?
Okay, I get it. NOW, I get it. Cause it kinda bugs me too. I’ve never been a huge jewelry girl, but I’m trying. I’m REALLY trying. I do love the ring. I love that he picked it out. I love that it’s so understated. It’s perfect.
And in the scheme of things I suppose it doesn’t make much difference. The plan is to each get rings tattooed on our fingers. (Because he’s one of those non-ring wearing guys … serendipity, no?)
Although, the more I think about it, I might have a better idea. I propose a NEW tradition. New, but still in keeping with the spirit and symbolism of the ring. Instead of a ring, maybe I’ll just have his FACE tattooed on my fingertip. It IS permanent, after all, and that way he’ll always be with me, regardless of distance.
As I age and my fingers prune-up … so will his face. Isn’t growing old together the whole point? MWAH.
And when I’m pissed at him, I’ll just stick that finger right on up my butt. No fighting, no arguing. Just lots of passive aggressive sodomy.
(Ooh yeah, I’m taking “giving the finger” to a WHOLE new level with this one, baybee.)
And on that note, a random photo search result. Look what Google delivered TODAY when I did a search for “finger.”
Awww. Smoochy smooch.
Not to worry. You have my word — absolutely no Finger Monkeys will be harmed in the expression of marital anger. (There’s a Richard Gere joke in here somewhere, I’m just not feelin’ it tonight …)