I like reading about archaeology. I own a metal detector. I also don’t have much luck with rings.
My marriage has endured many years, but I have gone through no less than three wedding rings over the course of its duration so far. My wife says she isn’t getting me a fourth ring, so I have to locate the old one.
The first one I lost while on vacation. We were in a boat going down the intercoastal waterway in Florida when I lost it. I had just finished applying some sunblock to my wife’s back and thought to dip my hand into the water to wash the excess lotion off. Some combination of lubrication from the lotion, water pressure from the moving boat and really bad luck caused it to somehow blast forward off of my finger and into the depths below. It now lies at the bottom of the waterway, presumably awaiting some future archaeologist to dig it up and posit theories about how and why it wound up there. The second one flew from my finger as I flicked water off my hands after washing them. The supposedly unbreakable titanium hit the bathroom tile and neatly broke into two halves. The jeweler later said it was only advertised as unbreakable, but actually had to be breakable in case an emergency required it to be removed.
The third one is somewhere in our backyard in the area that was once the dog pen. Having been tripped by one of the dogs, I fell. Cursing in frustration, I swiped at the dog and, sure enough, the ring flew from my finger into the underbrush.
Repeated attempts to locate it have been fruitless so far. As I said, I have a metal detector, but early diggings have revealed the previous occupants of our home burned and buried trash in this spot. It’s been nothing but tin cans and bottle caps just yet.
This might be another one for future archaeologists.
