Bling

I am thankful for wedding rings. As a single girl stumbling through the dating scene, rings are helpful visual markers to ID the people who are (at least claiming) to be off the market. It automatically takes the majority of people off my radar, and I can spend the rest of my precious time determining what is wrong with the remaining ones that they are still single.

Now, married folks who do not wear wedding rings are not automatically assholes in my book. If you choose not to go the jewelry route you could just make sure to mention your spouse as soon as possible in conversation with one of us non-ringed ones. Or, you could carry your spouse with you at all times. This includes small dogs. While not your spouse, the act of carrying a dog like a fashion accessory also puts you immediately in the “undatable” category.

I had been operating under the assumption that by not wearing a wedding ring, not mentioning a spouse and not carrying a yappy dog like a purse that I was giving the big green light to other singles to hit on me. And then a friend promptly stepped in and shattered that notion. As a previously married gal herself, she told me she got hit on more when she was wearing her wedding ring than when she was not, and even handed her old diamond wedding ring over for me to find out for myself.

The thrill of the chase? The comfort in knowing you could flirt and not be on the hook for anything? A selfless act to let the ol’ married ladies know that they’ve still got it? This was the parade of paltry hypotheses in my head as I took the ring out for a spin.

I met some friends out at a bar. Some friends and their friends. One of those friends of friends was a guy. A guy I recognized.

Hawaiian Shirt Boy had returned.

(The fact that he was not wearing a Hawaiian shirt this time will not change his moniker.)

Now, you may remember me mentioning that upon my first introduction to Hawaiian Shirt Boy we spoke for over two hours and it just must have slipped his mind that he had a very serious girlfriend. What a perfect opportunity for retaliation this ring could afford! I wasted no time in pretending I was above revenge. This is how I imagined the conversation would go:

HSB: Oh! Wow! I didn’t notice your wedding ring the first time we met! Are you…are you married?Me: Would it be a problem if I were?HSB: Oh, uh, not at all! (Nervously smiles and takes a big gulp of whatever he’s drinking.) It’s just…uh…I didn’t see your ring, and I don’t remember you saying anything about being married. So, I guess, I mean, I just figured, I thought you were single. You know, by default.Me: Oh, like how I thought you were single? You know, by default? (Elizabeth Bennet-like knowing smile of confidence followed by turning and talking to someone else.)

Yeah. That didn’t happen. All I got from him were a couple quick glances down at the ring, and whatever his thoughts of the matter were he refused to let his face betray them. Furthermore, I didn’t get hit on by anybody and went home to hide the giant diamond safely away.

The next day I was grateful not to have such unwieldy jewelry as I was shoving all my groceries into one bag. (Seriously. How long have I been an adult? When will I learn to take three times as may bags to the grocery store as I think necessary?) I glanced up to see one hand putting items on the conveyer belt and another hand waving at me. In between was Hawaiian Shirt Boy.

HSB: Hey! It feels like I just saw you! Say, last night, perhaps!Me: Yeah! Heh. Good times. So…I see you’re buying chips. Mmmm…chips.HSB: Yeah. Chips are good.

Lord. I felt like I was caught in a betrayal. As if I was hooked up to a polygraph test and the needle flew off the chart and started drawing on the wall. He could see my hands. He could count my fingers. And the number of un-ringed ones. In that moment I was sure such proof of my deceit would not just momentarily cripple my conversation skills, but Hawaiian Shirt Boy would try to warn all Madison Guys: this one is a marriage-faker. Trying to get out of there as quickly as possible, I threw my bag over my shoulder. And fell over backwards.

I fell over backwards.

Yes, you read that right, I FELL OVER BACKWARDS.

How the hell does this happen to me? How do I get one drink while wearing a diamond ring and end up with massive guilt while player-boy over here blithely strolls along? And how do I get taken down by GROCERIES?!

My lesson from this? No more wearing a diamond ring. Just kidding! I am SO testing out that theory. We all must make sacrifices for science.

The real lesson from this? Bring more damn bags.