Walking out of a diner with three members of the bridal hootenanny, I gasped and screamed, “OH MY GOD!”
Abby thought my car was stolen.
John thought I saw a dead body.
Liz, an arachnophobic, thought there was a spider.
In reality: my engagement ring wasn’t on my finger. This provokes in me the kind of shocked horror that you’d expect in a victim of or witness to a major crime (to Liz, spiders are a crime).
I ran back into the diner, searching our booth desperately. Then I emptied my pockets with shaking hands, finally finding my ring tangled up in my keys inside my right coat pocket. I have no idea how it got there. I’m just glad it’s back on my finger.
Abby said, “That’s the right reaction to have. It means you really love Collin.” I think it means I really love my ring, but I also really love Collin, so I’m not gonna split that hair.
This ever happen to you? Did you keep your cool better than I did (I hope?)