Wednesday, 27 September 2017

The Ring Finger Blues.


The last few days have been completely overshadowed by losing my wedding ring.

It’s strange how used to wearing it I’ve become and how weird I feel without it. My hands feel strangely naked (which is also the name of a magazine I subscribe to) as I type this. My anxiety hasn’t abated since I first noticed it was missing on Friday morning, and what makes it worse is I’m constantly reminded I haven't got it every time I pick something up, like a glass, or a mug, or my phone, or a guinea pig; I hadn’t realised how much it was in my awareness on a day-to-day basis; without it, I’m a gibbering jewellery-less wreck.

My one reassurance is the fact I’m 99.9% sure I took it off at home. I know I was wearing it at last Thursday’s Mostly Comedy as I would have felt hugely self-conscious without it. I seldom remove it in public and only briefly; usually to put some hand cream on or to engage in an extra-marital affair (with a guinea pig owner; see above).

I must have taken it off in my front room when I got home after packing up the club. I first noticed it was missing when I woke up on the sofa in the early hours of the day after the gig, but it was late, so I told myself I’d find it in the morning - except I didn’t. Since then, I’ve been methodically scouring the living room in concentrated bursts, moving furniture as I go, but to no avail; I’m beginning to run out of ideas as to where it is. 

If it doesn’t turn up, does that make me a bachelor? I’ll have to check the small-print on my marriage certificate. The only positive is I can now remove a turkey's giblets at a moment’s notice, but you’d be surprised how rarely this comes up; I knew I should have worked in poultry. 

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