Another blonde blunder has been added to my ever-growing list.
Rings have been a fashion statement for me for over 40 years. During the late 1960s and ‘70s, I wore rings on nearly every finger, which began while working in the offices of the infamous Dayton’s department store in downtown Minneapolis, a store I dearly miss.
I still have many of those fashion rings that I don’t wear anymore including a “J” signet ring, a wrap-around snake ring, a large mood ring, and my high school class ring which doesn’t even fit my pinkie finger any more.
Today, only five rings encircle my fingers. Besides my wedding ring, most cherished is a mother’s ring that was given to me by my three children about 25 years ago. It, too, has shrunk in size and is now worn on my right pinkie finger.
Since I’m now retired, I usually don’t wear my rings at home as it’s easier to clean, cook, and do other chores without them on and so they sit on a small copper tray. When going somewhere, the rings go on so I don’t feel naked. The same goes for earrings.
Earlier this winter I had a meeting at church one Wednesday morning and made two stops at stores to shop. I came home and placed my rings on the tray. That evening my husband and I made our weekly trek to play bar bingo with our “Bingo Buddy” friends who are retirees and live on area lakes. As I was putting on my rings, I discovered the mother’s ring was missing. I panicked and looked around the tray and on the floor. I quickly ran out to the car to see if it had slipped off when I took my gloves off and was possibly laying on the seat or the floor. It was nowhere to be found. With an empty feeling of loss, I told my husband I would call the church and the two stores in the morning to find out if anyone had found it. I could only hope it was.
Meeting our friends at the local bar, we ate supper and then played the usual 13 games of bingo while conversing and laughing with our friends. I told them that I had lost the ring and hoped someone had found it where I had been earlier in the day.
Toward the end of the evening of fun, I flexed my fingers that are slowly stiffening from arthritis as I waited for the next number to be called. And there on the pinkie finger of my left hand was the ring I had thought was missing. It glistened in the light as if it were winking at me. I gasped and then covered my face with embarrassment and broke into tears of laughter, saying to myself, “Another blonde moment.”
A friend next to me said the look on my face was priceless when I saw the ring. All the bingo buddies joined in with laughter at my yet another blonde moment.
Looking down from the other end of our segregated tabled of men at one end and women at the other, my husband asked, “Your ring was on your other hand?” With my face 50 shades of red and scrunched with laughter, I could only shake my head in the affirmative as I wiped the tears from my eyes. Another friend said, “Well, there’s your next column!”
And so, with great relief that I did not lose the ring, I share another blonde episode with you, and yet at the same time, questioning is it because I’m blonde or getting older?
A couple of days later, I shared my story on the phone with my daughter, who is also blonde. Her brother has said many times that she and I share the same brain, as we not only look alike, but we also have the same laugh, sense of humor, and we think alike.
While still on the phone, she laughed and shared my story with her fiancé, who replied, “I hope it skips a generation!” Humph . . . and I thought he was a nice guy.