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Brand New Look
Yes, I know. It's startling, bright.
But you know something? It's so "me"! I quickly became dreadfully
tired of seeing so damned much white and so little color. Not a
very good likeness to me nor the me I've become. I've become so
drastic I just may join the "It's My Diary" ring. See what happens
in old age? We don't give a damn anymore.
Speaking of old age and such, birthdays
are looming. The
Queen has one coming up soon. Not that I'm saying she's old
or anything... :) And shortly thereafter, I'll be kicking up my
heels and celebrating the big 42. Yep. In a few weeks here I'll
be turning 42 and once again, my husband, a mere 11 months younger
than me, can return to calling me "old." Putz.
I have a list, for the first time
since I turned thirteen, of what I hope to get. It's not that I
like doing lists, it's just that my husband can't seem to think
of what I might want. Not that I don't give him any hints.
Did I say what a putz he can be?
So, here's my list:
- Lingerie Chest
- Burr Grinder
- Small (13") Flatscreen LCD
Television
- DVD Player
- VCR
- New wedding ring set
I didn't mention the wedding rings,
did I?
A while back (somewhere around hitting
the 40 pound marker) I went and had a "thingy" put into
my rings to keep them on my finger. I think it's referred to as
a "sizer." I can't believe the gall and audacity of the
ass who put it on. Not only did he spend a good twenty-minutes attempting
to coax, cajole and guilt my husband into buying me a brand new
set as a reward for losing all the weight (I explained
I didn't want my rings resized until I lost the remaining weight
so that he would accommodate my request without objection), but
then he twisted this oddly shaped piece of brass-looking metal inside
both of the bands, did not do a good job of clipping them off so
that the extraneous metal wouldn't poke or pinch my fingers and
then charged me a whopping $18 (or something like that). The clincher
was less than 24 hours later as I was running errands and happened
across a set of three resizers, clear, smooth plastic for $5 at
some place like Wal-Mart.
I wound up doing what I set out to
do initially. I bought myself a rather nice looking solitaire from
K-Mart (they have the most incredible sales prices and the stuff
doesn't look half bad either) so I had something to wear to Baltimore.
However, I missed my wedding band and so, I took off the resizer
(after it cut into me so badly I let out a yelp) and wore it when
we went on our infamous Mission Trip.
Yes, I think I may revisit writing
about that.
Well, everything was going fine until
the last night of our trip. The boys and I went swimming and the
rings kept threatening to fall off my finger. Seeing that I couldn't
just take them off and shove them someplace safe (and that I wouldn't
forget about and leave behind), I moved them over to my middle finger.
And promptly forgot about it.
Later (much later) that night I woke
and found my finger had swelled quite a bit. I tried everything
I could. Shaving gel, soap, lotion. I was even tempted to go out
to my car and see if there was any oil. It only made matter worse.
And so, I propped my hand up in hope the swelling would go down
and went back to sleep.
Luckily we headed off for breakfast
early and as we were being seated, I raised my hand up and asked
the waitress if she knew of a good way to get the rings off. Her
eyes widened a bit as she informed me it was quite swollen and therefore
I should get that down before oiling my finger to slip off the rings.
She reminded me a lot of my mother.
Take charge, tell it like it is so that it's reassuring to the one
who is having visions of her hand being sawed off by some overzealous
rookie firefighter. Alas, Mom's only good for that stiff upper-lip
when it comes to blood and guts. When it comes to dealing with the
nasty skeletons in the closet, she merely wrenches those rose colored
glasses back up a bit tighter on her nose.
For a moment I was horribly homesick
for my mother. Luckily I had my own charges to tend to (and they
didn't need to see me panic 500 miles away from home and the services
of their EMT trained dad) and a surrogate mother at my service.
I thanked her profusely as she zipped by, depositing a bucket of
iced water on the table in her wake.
I'm not sure if the swelling from
the tight rings or the frostbite from the iced water was more painful.
My heart sunk when one of the boys announced it had been fifteen
minutes and we found that the swelling had only receded by a smidgen.
Not nearly enough to grease me up and pop that bad boy off.
As the second wave of panic began
to ebb about my saccharine laden euphoria, the waitress-mother came
up with hot chocolates for the boys, coffee for me and a quick announcement
that a jeweler, whose shop was just around the corner, came in every
morning about then to get a cup of coffee. She said she'd check
to see if he'd been in yet, otherwise, she tossed over her shoulder
long before my jaw clipped the edge of the table as it registered
in my head what she said--the shop wasn't open until 10.
Another three hours.
Just
Breathe
She returned as she dropped off two
breakfast plates at another table and told me the jeweler had already
been in. However, she was quick to add before my face could sink
into my shoes, he should be in his shop just around the corner.
I asked if I should go there now.
She replied (so like Mom again) it was up to me. The boys nodded
at me and given how comfortable I was with this woman and how quiet
it was in the restaurant, I decided it would be okay for me to dash
around the corner to see if he'd open the door, let me in and cut
those wicked things off.
He was a large but gentle man with
a heavy German accent. He joked with me as he set about gathering
the tools he'd need to perform the procedure, then had me sit across
from him at a desk covered with glass saying that he was trying
to see what way I should hold my hand for him so there would be
the least amount of blood.
I must have instinctively jerked my
hand back a bit because he quickly reassured me the procedure was
painless. I laughed, nervously, then calmed myself down as I audibly
noted it had to be, otherwise he wouldn't have chosen a glass covered
piece of furniture.
The contraption he used is a lot like
a seamstresses marker. Not the ink kind, but the one they use to
draw out patterns into the material with a little wheel on it much
like a sprocket or a muted version of a spur. It had a small piece
of metal that scooped out around the wheel which he placed between
my finger and ring with the sprocket-deal on top of the gold. With
a few simple twists (like operating a manual can-opener), he cut
through the rings.
I breathed out a sigh of relief for
I didn't feel a thing.
The trick of it was, plying the metal
away from my finger without cutting my finger on the razor sharp
edges made from the cut. But he was a master jeweler, of that I
could be certain. Once again, I didn't feel a thing except for a
slight release and a twinge of pain from my swollen finger pushing
out the tiny bit of flesh remaining that had been held down by the
rings.
I gladly paid the man the twenty-dollars
he said it would cost (bringing the cost of putting on the resizer
and cutting it off to the same I spent on the solitaire at 70% off
at K-Mart) and graciously accepted his advice and the packet with
my rings.
Of course, Mr. Putz wondered if I
couldn't have tried a bit harder or longer at getting them off without
having to have had them cut off.
Did I say what a putz he could be?
Hope you enjoyed your dose of fresh
squeeze. Now don't forget to bounce on over and visit Queen and
wish her an early happy birthday. After, of course, you leave me
word on what you think of the new design or whatever tickles your
fancy.
Yak at me....[
]and then visit Queen.
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