Rings

Today I threw my iron ring in the garbage. After nine years of avoiding the fate experienced by countless other Canadians with engineering degrees, after dozens of airport screenings, forgetting it in my gym bag time and time again, I threw my iron ring away with the rest of my taco scraps at La Taqueria. I didn’t realize where I had misplaced it until I returned to the office, noticed it was missing, and my taco companion explained that she saw me remove it and place it on my plate next to some refried beans. Thinking nothing of it, I cleaned off my plate and dumped it into the waste – ring, beans, napkin and all. What’s crazy is I have hardly any recollection of this. Was I subliminally sending myself a message that it’s time to put the ring away given that I’m not a practicing engineer and never really have been? I’m not sure, but it feels like the best thing to do is to pass along this very sage advice to ring owners everywhere, including my soon-to-be sister-in-law (official as of two days ago – yay!): Your ring may certainly be bigger, sparklier and more meaningful than mine was but be warned – Anyone can fall victim to unintentional taco time ring disposal syndrome.

Keep your salsa-pouring hand steady and your ring finger guarded. Because he shoulda, and he put a, ring on it.

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