The Problem With Being Knuckleless

Wednesday, December 21, 2011
1,907 Days.

Or if you prefer, five years, two months and and 20 days.

I've learned a lot about myself since saying "I do" to Sheena 1,908 days ago. I've mentioned often how my understanding of my head size has changed.

I also learned I have no knuckles.

Eash finger is essentially a tapered sausage. They are fattest where they attach to my hand and narrower at what I'm sure my ring calls, "The beginning of freedom."

Having tapered sausage fingers is essentially only a problem if you try and wear a ring. Prior to our wedding, the only ring I had any interest in wearing was a ring pop. You remember those delectable mounds of sugar shaped like a massive diamond? Tasty right?

Well, now that I've taken to wearing a ring on the finger, conveniently named the "ring finger," the days since our wedding have become one epic battle to keep from loosing it.

The ring tried to escape me while surfing. It's rather difficult to paddle for a wave with a clenched fist, but I won that battle. It even tried to swim to freedom through a  bathroom sink drain, but was no match for me and my wrench. And there have been too man incidents to count where my ring has jumped from my digit at the sudden extension of my fingers.

I've learned from each of these incidents. I no longer wear it while swimming of any kind. Our drains all have guards on them. And my left hand no longer makes sudden moves.

However, the battle almost came to an end yesterday, with the ring winning.

We headed up the mountain to go sledding. Before locking the van I took my ring off and put it in what I thought was secure location. I knew that if I kept it on, at some point I'd take my glove off on the hill and my ring would disappear. So leaving it in the vehicle is the safest place. Perhaps my house would have been safer yet. I had driven half-way down the mountain when I realized my ring was no longer where I put it. It was somewhere on the snowy road, most likely right next to where I was parked, but it was snowing heavily and the ground was no longer the ground we recognized. We went back but between the dark, the fresh snow, and the multiple lines of tire tracks over where we were parked, it seemed the ring was gone for good.

I went to bed thinking about the 1,907 days of blissful ring wearing. I wondered if there was a betting pool somewhere with people wagering on how long I would be able to keep from losing the ring. My sleep war far from restful.

This morning I woke early readied myself for the day and went back up the hill in the morning light. But this morning I went up armed with a weapon I knew the ring could not withstand. I carried a metal detector. It even had a ring setting. I thought one last look would be in order. If I didn't find it, I was preparing myself to resume the search once the snow melted.

In less than 120 seconds I found the white gold devil.

It seems to have been driven over multiple times. It hasn't lost its shape, but the snow in and around it was packed tightly. You can't even call it snow anymore. It was the frozen and watery equivalent to coal. Freeing the ring was like extracting a fossil from rock.

So, we had a scare, but we're at 1,908 days and counting. Let's see how long I can keep this band where it belongs.