Not for the faint of heart or the impatient of soul.
I thought I did well. I snuck a ring of his away, measured it in millimeters, looked up several internet sites, checked my math multiple times, ordered a new ring.
Got the wrong size. Too big.
Hubby appreciated the effort, and told me he was a size 9. I ordered a new one, size 9.
Wrong size again. Too small.
And this is where it gets funny.
Hubby raged that he was a size 9. He swore up and down he was a size 9. “I’ve been a size 9 since high school! My wedding band is a size 9!” he insisted as he ran his hand under cold water. He shoved the ring on his finger and it still wouldn’t fit. “I’ve always been a size 9!”
Does this sound familiar yet? Kinda like when a lady goes dress shopping for the first time in a few years and is frustrated because the dress won’t fit?
I look into exchanging it for a bigger size.
“Maybe we should hang onto it,” hubby says. “That way, when I loose the weight-”
I start howling in laughter. “You sound like me and all my skinny clothes!” I snicker. “I keep them because when I loose weight I won’t have to go shopping again.”
“Shut up,” he growls and stomps up stairs. “I’ve got to drop these 20 pounds…” he mutters.
“Ya know,” I call after him, “I can still wear my high school earrings. They fit great.”
I have no idea how I’m going to use this in future writing, but I am soooooooo going to use this for something.