CHARLESTON, W.Va. -- Geoff and I had been married barely a week when he realized his platinum wedding band was missing. We'd known it didn't fit as tight as it should, but thought it was snug enough -- and heavy enough -- that he'd notice if it slipped off.
It did. And he didn't.
Ring No. 2 -- white gold from a pawn shop -- fit far more snugly. Once Geoff struggled it over his knuckle, that ring didn't budge. Some time (and perhaps a few pounds) later, the ring began to strangle his finger. He greased and wiggled it off.
Then promptly lost it.
Ring No. 3 -- stainless steel, from an upscale gumball machine -- lasted the longest. (Though it's generally believed that quality lasts, I think ugly lasts longer. Buy something that's unattractive, but reasonably priced -- it lasts for years. Indulge in nice earrings, they're lost in a week.)
"If I manage to lose this ring," Geoff said of this last, "then I'm just going to get a ring tattooed on my finger."
And, yeah. He's now soliciting recommendations for a tattoo artist.
While not passionately opposed to tattoos, I'm also not a huge fan. I've seen how the effects of pregnancy can alter a once cute linked double heart into something that resembles the footprints of an oversized duck. What seems like a good idea at 20 is almost never what a 40-year-old would select.
Rather than being a display of a person's individuality and their idea of what qualifies as art, tattoos seem to cause the person to be stuck at the age they were when they got it. There was a time when mullets were all the rage. I think of tattoos as having a permanent mullet.
I've heard some reputable tattoo artists will try to discourage people from having a name inked to their skin, but the heat of passion can make them hard to discourage.