Is it remarkable that neither R Man nor I can remember when he gave me my wedding ring? It seems like it to me. We’re both vaguely sure it was quite a while ago, maybe 1990. I remember it was a Christmas present, one I had asked for specifically, and it came in my stocking. Sweet, huh?
It certainly means a lot to me, an announcement of the permanence I feel with him. A former fuck buddy took exception to it and asked me to take it off while we were going at it. I refused and he was annoyed, but not as annoyed as he was when he found out I take it off to make biscuits. I tired to explain there is a profound difference, to me, between the symbolism of removing it to fuck and the practical demands of avoiding scraping dried up dough off it, but he wasn’t having any of it. That might be one of the reasons he is a former fuck buddy.