Jaws of Life, or why I am naked

So y'all know about my little chicken plan. I was surprised to see so much interest (and so many comments), but really what happened to me yesterday was much more exciting...kind of.

It all started with the damn Blockbuster Online dvd's.

I head out the back door to put the dvd's in the mailbox to send off. I catch my finger on the screen door somehow. Not just any finger, but the finger with my wedding rings on it. I think my wedding ring has had a crack in it for a while. See, when I acquired it, it needed to be enlarged quite a bit and it was narrow in the back. So a while back it must have broken in the narrow part. It never really made any difference.

Until yesterday when I catch it on the screen door. It all happens so fast, but it seems that catching it on the screen pulls the ring apart just enough to grasp a little bit of my skin in between the little broken crack. I look at my pinched skin, wonder what to do, then take my dvd's to the mailbox. Then I sit on the back steps pondering what to do for about three minutes. I try pulling and tugging a little, but it doesn't budge.

It isn't hurting or bleeding, but it looks like the ring has gone clear through my skin. I keep thinking of stories of how people get impaled by large metal objects through their head but they can't feel a thing and they're not bleeding. Their chances of survival are very slim.

So I get a screwdriver, thinking I might pry it off, but I never try as it doesn't really seem to be the right plan of attack. I think about driving to a doctor. Or calling the fire department. Yes, the fire department seems to be the best option. But first I call Gerald. O Wise and All Knowing husband. I always consult my husband before making any big decisions.

"Just get a pair of pliers and pull it off," he says.

"But I only have one hand to work with. And the ring is platinum! I think I'll call the fire department," I say.

"Just go over to my mother's house. Or I can come home if you need me to."

Click.

Okay. I call my mother-in-law (O Wise and All Knowing mother-in-law) and she advises I come right over and she'll take a look. It should be noted that it is her 60th birthday and in my crisis I forget to mention a quick happy birthday on the phone, but I do remember before running out the door to grab her birthday present.

I arrive, she gets her present, and we proceed inside to perform the operation. She has spent the 30 minutes it takes for us to get to her house setting up every single pair of pliers and screwdrivers that she owns. If only she had set them on a white cloth it would really be like the emergency room. Nonetheless, she makes quick work of the surgery. The ring is removed from my finger. It doesn't bleed at all and really it is quite a minor injury. I think my chances of survival are quite good.

I tell her about how my plan was to call the fire department, we laugh about firemen and their jaws of life for a bit, and she says she would have just driven to a jeweler. (Really, how dramatic would my story have been if I had just driven to a jeweler? Much too logical of a thing to do in my opinion.)

So to make the most of her birthday morning, we take a quick trip to Walmart, have breakfast at Bojangles (think buscuits, fried chicken as fast food, and lots of old men sitting around having free coffee) and laugh the whole ring fiasco off.

But why am I naked? Well luckily I'm not really naked, but my ring finger is until I get the ring repaired. I spent the whole day yesterday amazed at how many times I inadvertantly take my thumb and twirl my ring around. I only notice now because the ring isn't there. I had a little heart attack every time I went to twirl and the ring was missing, but I'm getting used to it now.

The ring is in my purse which prompted Gerald, in his dry sense of humor to ask, "So does this mean we're not married anymore?"

"No honey, we're not married until you get me a new ring," I reply.

He quickly responds, "I think they sell them at Sears."

Oh, boy.