The other night we took the pups for a walk and Daisy being new to the world and all...well...she was a pain in the pa-to-the-tootie. She is having major issues walking on her leash. As in: she doesn't want to be actually ON the leash sorta thing. In my infinite wisdom I took over the reins from the boys and she proceeded to pull me so hard her leash was cutting into my hands.

I kept switching hands but it didn't help much and my wedding ring was really starting to hurt my finger. So I took it off. I also was wearing a pair of pants that had no pockets. What's a girl to do? I stuck my ring in my bra. Oh, don't judge. You know you have stuck something in there once or twice too. Well, if you are a girl that is. And heck, maybe even some of my male readers might have too.

After we got home and after I put on my jammies I looked down on my finger and Oh. My. Gawd. my ring wasn't there. My jammies were low enough cut that when I realized I stuck the ring in my bra that was now flung on the floor, I could see the circular imprint where the ring used to be.

We looked every where. In my mind there is no way on earth that ring slipped out of it's safe keeping but then again...how many times do you bend over and your boob pops out a bit or in my case a bunch? Still I am certain it had to have fallen out when I was getting changed.

Tobey and I scoured the bedroom and we even took the mattress off the bed and cleaned underneath it. Barbie walked out route on the evening I discovered the ring was missing - flashlight in hand. The next day Tobey and I walked the route again. No ring.

A few neighbors asked what we were looking for and promised to bring my ring home if they found it. One guy said he had a wedding ring I could have and then said it was plate. Um. Yeah. Thanks. Who buys a fake wedding band?

So now I am wearing Mom's wedding bands with my anniversary band. I rarely wear my engagement ring but dang y'all I hate I lost that band. Hate it. It wasn't worth anything to any one but me and Tobey.

I suppose the moral of the story could be to wear pocketed pants. Or to not stuff your bra with gold. Or to train your dang dog so she will walk on a leash like the rest of the dogs in the world.

P.S.
Tonight we take the dogs for yet another walk and this time Daisy actually knocked me down. To the ground. My supermodel camera hit the ground as I fell and I dropped her leash. Luckily she didn't dart off - which was the only time of the night she didn't try.

~ame