My husband is hilarious, and handsome.
He’s smart too, and slightly taller than me, which is a good thing (and can be hard to find).
He’s also not used to wearing jewelry, so even though we’ve been married going on two years, he forgets to wear his wedding band. A lot.
He’s forgotten it enough, that his backup plan is to wear an old metal key ring, especially if we’re going somewhere my uncles might spot his ringless finger.
This morning we carpooled to work (we work across the street from each other, yet somehow we managed to get lost on our way in? It was comical. Also, he was driving.), and a few minutes before we walked out the door, he asked me if I’ve seen his wedding ring.
“If I don’t wear it for a few days, I sort of lose track of it.”
“I can think of an easy solution to that problem.”
So, we look, quickly — because we have to get to work — and can’t find it, so we just leave. I don’t really care. It’s not like he’s going to run off and start sleeping with other people, despite his many jokes stating otherwise. But he refuses to admit that he lost it.
“I know where my ring is.”
“Oh yeah? Where it is then?”
“It’s in the house.”
“Mmhmm. Where in the house?”
“It’s… above the basement, and under the roof.”
“No, I mean specifically, where in the house? Which room?”
“It’s… in our bedroom.”
“OK, where in our bedroom?”
“… Between the walls.”