Ring Whisperer

I know what you are thinking:

"Boy, Andrea must have finally smartened up a little."

But you are wrong.

Don't beat yourself up over it. It's an easy mistake to make, if all you have to go off of is this blog.

It's been ages since I regaled the masses with tales of awkward predicaments or judgmental musings.

But that doesn't mean there haven't been any.

Oooooooh, no siree.

It just means I haven't written any of them down. Which might mean that they didn't actually happen. Right?

Same principle as trees falling in the forest...? Maybe?

Just to be safe, I thought I'd better hurry and write my latest snafu before it didn't happen, too.

So, there we were. At the mall. My friend and I. I was showing her a ring that I really liked, and lamenting the fact that its package prevented me from trying it on. All my complaining reminded her of a time she tried on a ring at a store, and the management had to cut it out of its package to get it back off her finger. We laughed about it, but she insisted that it was traumatic and that it really hurt. Not to mention the embarrassment of it all. She admonished me not to try on the ring.

So, there we still were. Well, I was. My friend continued shopping while I noticed a way to unhinge the  plastic thingy that kept the elusive ring from my eager finger. I slipped it over my knuckle. Where it became instantly and decisively stuck.

I had to get my laughter under control before I could get my friend's attention. 

I am lucky this friend is the kind who doesn't kick idiots in the shin. 

Instead, she tugged and twisted that ring, all the while telling me not to freak out.

My finger expanded and turned red. The ring suddenly revealed its sharp edges, which until that moment seemed perfectly normal.

I no longer found the ring attractive, but was willing to buy it, just so we could go home and take a table saw to my finger if need-be. 

But my friend wasn't giving up. She poured lotion over and around that silver band like there was no tomorrow. She kept saying, 

"Don't freak out...are you freaking out?"

Which led me to believe that she was. Just a little. Which made me giggle.

In the end, she saved the day.

And my finger.

And now, two weeks later, she is still my friend. Even after finding out how high maintenance I am, what with all the care and keeping I require thanks to my bad decision-making gland.

(and my forgetting to eat gland...but that's another story)

So here's to you, friend.

Thank you.