Paranoia

Yesterday I forgot to wear my engagement ring. I hate it when I do that. I only realised when I went to bed, when I looked at my finger and realised I didn’t remember taking my ring off that evening. I had to get up and check that it was there in my little trinket box, because any day I forget to wear it I’m convinced that the burglars will have got in and zoned straight in on my little heart-shaped pink china dish thingy, ignoring the much more obvious DVD player (being the only other thing of any value in the house) and leaving everything perfectly tidy and locking the door behind them. It was there, safe and sound. I almost took it out and wore it to bed to make up for its day of neglect, but it’s a bit too pointy to wear in my sleep.

I’ll be nice when I’m married, though, and I won’t need to take that ring off at all. Somehow, on days when I don’t wear my ring I fear that I’m just that bit less engaged. If I never have to take my wedding ring off, I’ll always be completely married.

Possibly it's not so good to equate the status quite so closely with the ring-wearing. What can I say – I’m a sucker for symbols.