HA!
You faithful blogreaders know better than that, right? No, the story's a bit more interesting. You see, that's my mother's wedding ring. My real mother--the one who died when I was nine. For some never-explained reason, my stepmom's been wearing it on her right hand for the past 40-something years. I never asked why. I mean, my father must've given it to her to wear, right? Was it an homage of some sort?
Anyway, Annie's hands have become too arthritic. It doesn't fit anymore. So during a conversation with sister-in-law Polly about jewlery, she suddenly disappeared into the bedroom, returning with The Ring. The one she'd probably planned to give me on the occasion I brought some nice young man home and announced my engagement.
Too bad it never happened, huh? Long wait!
According to Annie, the center diamond was my mom's engagement ring. The two smaller diamonds (not equal in size) on either side were from my grandmother's. (Maybe. I'm not sure she has that part of the story right.)
It fits better on my left hand, but don't worry. I'm not that stupid. When I'm out and about, I squeeze it onto my right lest I scare all those eligible bachelors away (although, yeah...I'm quite aware that married "cougars" are in hot demand).
Gee, ya think I need a manicure? Those nails aren't shaped that way--they're just so long, they're curving around. Hey, who has time for appointments? I'm too busy running the family business.
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