Size Matters.

 

So after losing 198.5 lbs (give or take), it's pretty clear that I need to have my rings sized. They look like I'm a wee lassie trying on my mum's jewelry. I haven't been able to wear them for months and months, ever since I went on a lunch date with Bunco-Linda and, while gesticulating as I'm wont to do, they went flying across the dining room.  That was the end of that.

I miss them.

The sapphires I've been wearing in their absence are growing too large, as well. Pretty soon I'll be finger-nude. Can't have that.

By the by, I'm vain, but not that vain. I hate these pictures, because they make my fingers look even shorter and stubbier than they really are. These rings are a size 8, which was perfect nearly ten years ago when I first got them. Now, they need to be a 5½. They look fatter than they are, here, because I've got as much loose skin on my fingers as I do everywhere else on the bod. I want to get a lot of the skin cut off, but I'll stop at the phalanges, thanks. Who would do that? Carnie Wilson? I don't know.

I have small hands. I don't know many, if any, adults with hands smaller than mine. I wear kid gloves. They don't make plastic dishwashing gloves or latex hospital gloves small enough for my fingers. Which is precisely why I don't do dishes or, um, change bedpans.

Anyway, we were wondering, after they size rings down, what do they do with the extra gold? Give me back a nugget?

Fin.