I held on as long as I could, but yesterday spelled the end of my wedding ring.

It’s done. Over. Kaput.

It’s sad but true. At this point, I’ve lost so much weight that my wedding ring no longer fits. In fact it had gotten to a point where I could shake my wrist, fling it off and sail it across the office in the hopes of smacking a loud-mouthed co-worker in the noggin. (And believe me, there have been times when I wanted to do just that.)

There’s no hope of getting resized–it’s titanium. You know, the stuff they make golf club heads from? Yeah, that material. And it’s pretty much indestructible.

Ann had suggested that I buy one of those dorky plastic ring fillers to slip underneath it but I chose not to. I had tried one of those before and it was akin to having a chicken wing stick between your teeth or a rock in your shoe: annoying as hell. One co-worker suggested I put it on a chain and wear it around my neck. I told him I might as well call it “my precioussssssss” and live in a swamp if I were to do that. Or change my name to Christine Daae.

I’m sure a non-gold replacement–gold rings give me a nasty rash–will be bought soon but for now, I’m ringless. And it’s strange. I thought that by taking it off I would be relieved of all the annoyances that came along with the way it was now fitting.

But nothing could be further from the truth–I feel lost without it.

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