When my husband proposed to me back in 1971, he didn't even have a ring for me. I guess he figured he wouldn't risk spending any money until he was absolutely certain I'd say yes.
After I agreed to marry him, we headed straight to a jewelry store in the Bedford Mall. As I was excitedly looking at all of the diamonds, I couldn’t help but notice my husband-to-be was staring at something in a nearby jewelry case. When I held up my hand, sporting a diamond in the shape of a heart on a dainty gold band and asked him what he thought of it, he didn't even glance at it. He just mumbled, "Yeah, that's nice" and continued to stare into the other case.
Finally, I asked him what was so interesting.
"Those wedding bands right there," he said, pointing at two really wide, really thick, 14K-gold bands. They looked as if they’d been hacked off a piece of brass pipe. "Aren't they fantastic?"
"Fantastic" wasn't exactly the word I'd have used to describe the rings. I critically eyed the two chunks of gold and wanted to tell him I preferred more delicate rings, not something that looked as if it should be holding a dinner napkin. But I held my tongue.
"Um, they're really nice," I said, though not at all convincingly.
"I love them!" he practically gushed. "They're so different, so solid looking, not some wimpy little bands like most of them are. I think we should get them."
Reluctantly, I tried on the band. It came all the way up to my knuckle. I barely could bend my finger. Even worse, it was so thick, I couldn't close my fingers.
"But where would I fit the engagement ring?" I asked. "The band is so wide, it takes up my whole finger! "
My husband smiled. "If we get these rings, you won't even need an engagement ring. This will be all the ring you'll ever need!"
That was an understatement. It was all the ring about 10 people would ever need. If it were melted down, I figured it could make rings for an entire neighborhood. I began to suspect my husband wanted me to wear that ring to make certain no one would doubt I was married. Heck, even passengers in low-flying aircraft would be able to spot it.
"And the rings have plenty of room on them for engraving our personal wedding messages to each other!" he added.
I couldn't argue with that. The entire Declaration of Independence could have fit on each band.
Before I could utter an opinion, however, my husband, grinning with satisfaction, purchased the wedding bands…and no engagement ring.
Within a year after getting married and having the pleasure of wearing my chunky wedding band 24 hours a day, my ring finger was so raw and peeling so much, I felt like an iguana. The problem was no air was able to get underneath that thick chunk of gold, so my skin constantly was damp and suffering from suffocation. Before my finger rotted off, I decided I’d better have a heart-to-heart talk with my husband.
"I was wondering if maybe I could trade in this band for a more dainty wedding-ring set?" I dared to ask. "I honestly can't wear it any more. It's really uncomfortable and my finger is always red, raw and oozing."
Had I told him I was running off to the Bahamas with the plumber, he couldn't have looked more shocked.
"But if you buy another wedding band," he said, "it won't be official!"
I had no idea what he was talking about.
"We put these rings on each other's hands at the altar," he explained. "That made them our official wedding bands. Before that, they were just plain gold bands. Any rings we buy now won't be official!"
"In my heart, any ring you put on my finger, even here at home, still will be 'official,'" I said. "Let's face it, this ring is uncomfortable. I haven't been able to close my fingers since our wedding day! And admit it – you're not really comfortable wearing yours either, are you?"
He hesitated for a few moments then said, "Well, no, I'm not. But I'm willing to suffer because of what the ring stands for!"
Just what I needed – a ring martyr.
"Even if it gives you a bad case of athlete's finger?" I asked.
He rolled his eyes and shook his head, so I decided to drop the subject.
A few months later, I was in Montgomery Ward and just happened to pass through their fine jewelry department. There, I spotted a beautiful diamond solitaire ring with a matching band that had a row of tiny diamonds across the front. The set was delicate and sparkly. I instantly was in love.
Coincidentally, about that same time there was an ad in the paper about some company in search of gold and silver that was coming to one of the local hotels and was willing to pay big cash for unwanted jewelry. I rushed right over there.
I walked out with three times the money my husband originally had paid for the wedding band…and then I headed straight to Montgomery Ward and bought the dainty set. Only that evening did I realize how impulsively I'd acted and thought, "Oh, no...what have I done? This seriously could be grounds for divorce!"
Brave soul that I was, I decided not to mention the new rings to my husband unless he actually noticed them and asked about them.If he did notice, which I was pretty certain he did, he never said a word. And he continued to faithfully wear his band even when his finger nearly developed gangrene. Finally, for our next anniversary, I decided to do something reckless...I bought him a much thinner band with the Irish Claddagh symbol (his favorite symbol) engraved on it. He actually looked relieved when he opened it.
"Well, it's really nice…really unique...so I'll wear it," he said, "even though it’s not an 'official' wedding band. But I’m never going to part with my original ring because it has so much sentimental value."
He put his original band into a box in his drawer and never wore it again. With all of the gold it contained, I thought he probably should have stored it at Fort Knox.
A few years later, I took some worn-out, pure silver quarters to a coin shop in Concord and came home with $685. The owner of the shop told me he also was paying the highest prices around for gold.
When my husband, who'd just started a new hobby of model-railroading and had his eye on a special-edition train that was pretty expensive, saw my wad of cash, he went to his dresser drawer and took out his precious, original wedding band.
"Maybe I should find out how much I can get for this," he said.
He came home with the new model-train and even some scenery and tunnels to go with it.
Funny, but he never mentioned sentiment again.
Sally Breslin is a native New Englander and an award-winning syndicated humor columnist who has written regularly for newspapers and magazines all of her adult life. She is the author of several novels in a variety of genres, from humor and romance to science-fiction. Contact her at: sillysally@att.net
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