Allow me to spin you a tale, a tale of noble intentions, bad decisions, exercise habits, and of course...shallow pockets.
I, like many married men, wear a wedding band. This wedding band, in addition to the obvious symbolic significance, holds a considerable amount of sentimental value as it was a rather important part of nefarious marital ambuscade planned and executed by my smart, sexy, and sneaky wife.
We started going to Gold's gym nearby our home soon after moving to San Antonio. Now, our respective workout schedules have been erratic, but for a goodly number of months, my friend Clay and I were meeting at Gold's 3 days a week on a consistent basis. This was when I realized I was scratching up my wedding band on the aptly named dumbbells. -STOP
I have always been terrified of losing my wedding band. Although I have certainly gotten better as I've gotten older (really more like a worn-in pair of shoes than a good Cabernet) it was my fear that if I regularly removed my wedding ring (like my prettier half does on a daily basis) I would undoubtedly lose it. As a result, I never took it off for a number of years. It stayed on my finger through manual labor, paintball, shooting, even sparring (actually, rings make decent impact enhancing devices - but that's for a different entry).
COMMENCE- I tried wearing gloves whilst lifting weights but I found them very uncomfortable. I generally do not like putting gloves between my hands and their tools. I dislike shooting gloves, paintball gloves, driving gloves, and weight-lifting gloves. I have compromised when it comes do digging holes in our backyard's bedrock and fencing (learn from my mistakes - fencing gloves are crucial equipment). Anyhow, it bothered me to scratch up my ring on the weights. I initially tried keeping it on a key chain split ring, but that was hard on the ring as well. I finally decided to carry it in my pocket while I lifted, and immediately put it back on when I was finished. This worked fine for a while, until one fateful day when I skipped my post-lifting cardio and stopped by the 1/2 Price Bookstore on the way home. Once I arrived home, I showered as per my usual habit (I'm a flaky boy, but generally a cleanly one) and realized I had not put my ring back on. I promptly checked my workout pants - no ring. I checked the mustang - again, no ring. That's around the time I started freaking out a little bit. I called the gym, called the bookstore - nothing.
To her credit, my wife didn't give me even an iota of grief. I suspect she knew that nothing she could've said would have made me feel like even more of an irresponsible asshat.
Life went on.
Saturday evening, April 26th. In my duties as a Correctional Officer (yes - I know I've been remiss and as soon as I select some amusing yet wide-audience appropriate prison anecdotes I'll add my first Connally unit post)...as I was saying, in my duties as a Correctional Officer I carry a little notepad. This notepad, and pen which accompanies it, is one of the most important tools available to me. I use it to document everything from Offender behavior to assignment notes, to maintenance needs. Michelle needed the Connally unit switchboard number, so I went to fetch the notepad from the mustang. As I dug around under the driver's seat, I heard something metal clack against the front license plate that I have still not affixed to my front bumper. My initial thought was "my daughter leaves her rings and jewelry everywhere." Imagine my surprise when I retrieved not her ring but mine.
Remember those workout pants? I bought them for Krav Maga, they work great for the gym, but they have really shallow pockets. The mustang, for those of you unaware, is a relatively low to the ground car. The ring had apparently rolled out of the pocket, under the seat and gotten lodged in a nook (or possibly a cranny) for quite some time, before becoming dislodged in response to my evasive driving (required by the psychotic drivers here) wherein I made my happy discovery.
And there was much rejoicing.