If you blinked, you missed it. For a brief, 3 minute period today, my webcam was a nudie sexcam. No, it wasn't me. Stop gagging. It was Beth. She was up here talking with me, topless, as usual, and I sort of casually aimed the camera in her direction and let fly with the images of my wife's bountiful breasts. Okay, I'm lying, a little. She wasn't topless, but I did talk her into flashing some tittie for the camera. Five times. It had to be five times because I was trying to make the cam grab a shot and she was trying to do it without me getting the shot. I kept missing the shot, so I was begging, "C'mon, do it again. Pleeeease?" until I finally got one. It was a lot like sex night around here, only with a camera. Just kidding. Sort of. Anyway, I got the one shot of my wife's boobies (yes, that is an actual medical term) up there on the web. Three minutes later it was replaced by a picture of something else, probably my wife's empty chair. If you blinked, you missed it. |
Tonight, I'll tell you about the time I lost my wedding ring. On my
honeymoon.
A lot of men I know don't wear wedding rings. I've never understood
that. I'm married, I'm proud of it, and my ring is my way of showing
it. It's a symbol of my marriage, of the commitment I've made. In an
extreme sense, my ring is my marriage. I sort of feel as though
if I didn't wear the ring I wouldn't be married. (Maybe that's why so
many cheating married men don't wear their rings -- not to hide their
status from prospective ladyfriends, but to hide their status from themselves.)
It's not like I never take it off, but I feel weird when I'm not wearing
it, sort of at loose ends. The longest I've ever gone without it was
one day, when for some reason I left it on the bathroom counter and
forgot it when I left for work. I felt weird all day.
So, clearly, I'm a ring guy. I have a lot invested in it. I'd never
lose it, right? Ha.
When Beth and I were married nearly four years ago, we honeymooned
at Club Med in Cancun, Mexico. Don't get me started on Cancun. I loved
it there. Even though we were bookended by hurricanes that season and
there was a mosquito invasion on our second-to-last day and it was hotter
than blazes the whole time we were there... I absolutely loved it. The
sun, the sand, and most of all the crystal-clear water. I can't wait
to go back. To Cancun, that is. I can do without another dose of Club
Med, but that's a tale for another entry.
Anyway. Club Med Cancun. It was a watersports kind of vacation, and
no, I don't mean that kind of watersports. Sure, we took the tours of
the Aztec ruins and shopped at the bazaars in town, but we spent most
of our time in or near the water. My favorite thing was the snorkeling
bay, which I returned to anytime I wasn't doing something else. We also
snorkeled a reef out at sea, went waterskiing, and took windsurfing
lessons.
Windsurfing. Uh, yeah. Have you ever tried windsurfing? Here's a close
approximation: take a bowling ball, balance it atop another bowling
ball, balance an ironing board atop that, then balance a tabletop on
one corner atop that. And then climb on and balance yourself with all
of it in gale force winds while sadistic dwarves kick both bowling balls.
Now do it wet.
You tend to fall off a lot.
Getting up on the board isn't that hard, really. What's hard is grabbing
the sail and pulling it vertical. You do this by holding a broomstick-thick
handle thingie on the sail and yanking it up. You'll get it near vertical
and then everything will go ass over teakettle.
I was doing this in waist-deep water about twenty-five yards offshore
when my sail tanked me for the umpteenth time. I climbed right back
on, and as I almost successfully got my sail vertical, I noticed my
wedding ring was gone. The broom handle thingie had hooked it right
off my finger the last time I went down. I was ringwrecked.
So I'm standing there on a moving platform, twenty-five yards offshore,
in waist-deep water, with the bottom made up of seagrass and sand. And
my ring was down there ... somewhere. Oh, this was bad. Losing my wedding
ring on my honeymoon held such ill portent that I couldn't believe it.
I wondered if this was a sign from on high that I was really supposed
to be with the topless French girl from the complex swimming pool the
day before.
What else could I do? I jumped off the board, planted myself and hollered
to Beth for help. She brought me a mask and snorkel and I started diving
for the ring. I wasn't sure I'd lost it on my last dump, I didn't know
just where I'd lost it, I sure wasn't sure I was looking anywhere near
where I'd lost it, but I looked anyway. I was dealing with soft sand,
the push and pull of the waves, tall seagrass, shifting light patterns,
and the rest of my windsurfing class going on around me.
Every time I came up for air Beth or one of the people around me would
ask if I'd found it yet. I'd say no and go back down. The longer this
went on, the less hopeful they sounded. After about 15 minutes they
stopped asking if I'd found it and started asking why I didn't just
give up and replace it. I didn't bother answering that, I just kept
diving.
I couldn't replace it. Couldn't. Even if I did get a new ring,
it wouldn't be that ring, it wouldn't be the ring I was married
with. Every time I looked at it I'd know the real ring was somewhere
offshore in Cancun, maybe found and pawned by some other honeymooner,
but certainly not on my finger. That was my marriage down there. Not
finding it would be such a bad omen for the future of my marriage that
I'd probably screw it up subconsciously. I had to find that ring.
I kept diving for nearly half an hour. And then, finally, there it
was, nestled in the seagrass, half buried in the sand, winking at me
like a cheeky monkey. I snatched it up, stuck it on my finger, and shot
to the surface.
"I found it!" I yelled.
Nobody could believe it. Even I couldn't believe it, a little. What
were the odds? We hadn't had our rings inscribed, but mine had some
imprinting from the manufacturer, and I triple-checked it to make sure
it was my original ring and not some other poor schmuck's I'd found.
It was mine, no question.
I think about that sometimes. Just as I would have thought losing the
ring on the honeymoon might have meant our marriage was doomed, I also
think the fact that I found it against all odds might mean the marriage
is blessed. I try not to be superstitious most of the time, but I am
a little bit about this. I think it's a good thing to be superstitious
about.
At the very least, it makes a good story.
|
|||||
backward | indexward | onward |