7 months ago I lost my wedding ring.
Forgetting your wife's birthday, overlooking your wedding anniversary, telling your wife those pants make her look fat -- all pale in comparison to losing one's wedding ring.
Back in January, I was helping my Father-in-law raise the house (we had some foundation issues and the house had settled on one side) using two 20-ton railroad jacks. Rooting around under the house, digging through 100+ year old dirt, shoring up timbers and welding support beams into place, I was sure that the ring slipped the slippery slope off my finger, and was lost down in the bowels of our cellar.
This afternoon, C was walking the side lawn, looking for flowers to feed her newly "captured" pet butterfly, when she saw the ring sitting in a puddle of dried mud on a patch of lawn.
A patch of lawn that I have mowed dozens of times in the last 7 months.
A patch of lawn that I have weeded dozens of times in the last 7 months.
A patch of lawn that I have walked over, ran on, drove by, and looked down upon, dozens of times in the last 7 months.
Near as I can figure, the torrential rainstorm that we had the other night sent rivers of water down our roof. The cascading waterfall must have stirred up the ground directly below the eaves just enough to unearth the ring from it's hiding place below the surface.
How did the ring end up in this particular spot?
As I remember, we had set up the chop saw in this area as we were cutting lumber for support beams in the cellar. I must have pulled my gloves off to cut a board, dislodging the ring from my finger and depositing it on the hallowed ground below.
Mystery solved, ring found, dog house now officially vacant.
And S, I never, ever, ever said those pants made you look fat.