I lost my wedding ring.

And Ruby Ring Take Two.

Both which were gifts from my husband.

I know, what kind of jerk face loses their wedding ring? I haven’t seen it for at least three? four? weeks and it was becoming a problem. I don’t get to worked up when I can’t find things, whatever I’m looking for usually magically appears. I have a very nonchalant attitude when it comes to things missing, except for my diamond hoop earring that I lost in the dressing room of JCrew but didn’t’ realize it until I got home. That bitch is looong gone and when I think of that earring probably sucked up in some lone janitor’s vacuum canister, I start to dry heave and I break out into a cold sweat.

So back to my rings. When I don’t have them on, I always put them in a dish on my nightstand or a bowl next to my sink in the bathroom. I don’t wear my rings to work, but I did back in the day. One night after a bar shift, long before Baby Troy, Jeff and I stopped off for some beers and spinach artichoke dip. This possibly went down at T.G.I. Friday’s. Say what you want to about that chain restaurant, they have a great happy hour and an ever better artichoke dip. Plus it was like the only place open at that time of night. I glanced down at my hand and noticed an empty space where there should have been a princess cut ruby. I cried big tears into my artichoke dip because the ruby was gone, probably down the drain, literally, at my work. That was the first ring Jeff had given me, Ruby Ring Part One, and I kept it even though it’s terribly defiled. It sits in my jewelry box next to my diamond hoop earring that is now rolling solo, two busted and abused reminders that I really shouldn’t have nice things.

I went to put them on last week and they weren’t in either dish. I didn’t get too panicky, but mentioned to Jeff that I couldn’t find them. He helped me look when he got home from work, mostly in our bedroom and bathroom, neither one of us having any luck. He just shrugged his shoulders and I was all “Eh, they will probably turn up” and both went to eat some ice cream and watch Real Housewives of Orange County on the DVR because we are terrible married people, married people who really aren’t concerned that the symbol of our undying devotion to each other is sucked into a black void of lostness.

Cut to Friday night. I was at work and I was enjoying the company of two douchebags paying customers, serving them beers, whiskey and burgers. A few rounds in, one of them says to me, “You know who you look like?” I totally know where this is going and he tells me to guess. I say Kyra Sedgwick and drunk dbag #1 is all “Exactly!” He then points to drunk dbag #2 and says, “You know, he’s made out with Kyra Sedgwick before, so you should make out with him so he can decide whether or not you are Kyra Sedgwick.”

Now this is the part where I decide to tell douchebag squared to get bent or the part where I decide to be mildly amused. I don’t get as worked up about these things like I used to, but I mean, COME ON. I’m at work. Would you say something like that to the chick that rang you up at Safeway? To the lady that brings your mail? Something tells me these two dbags totally would.

I pointedly tell them that Kyra Sedgwick has better things to do than wait on people like them and that my husband wouldn’t appreciate me making out with anybody. Dbag #1 is all “If you’re married, where’s your ring?”

Good question douchebag, good question indeed.

After that little exchange, I made it my mission this weekend to find my rings. I went through the entire house. I looked everywhere. Closets, purses, toy chests, in the garage, under furniture, on top of furniture, in the vents, I mean I looked in places I didn’t even know existed in this house. I was in the kitchen and I was starting to lose it. As I pillaged every kitchen drawer, Zoe saunters up and is all “Where’s the tape dispenser?” I tell her now is not the time to play let’s-waste-tape-and-pretend-we-are-making-art and to beat it.

45 minutes later, I am surrounded by kitchen utensils, dishes and pots and pans and still NO evidence of my jewelry. She comes back in and asks if I’m still looking for my rings. I say yes and I bite my lip really hard because I’m about to cry and not only do I not have my rings, but I just ransacked my entire house like a burglar and now I have to clean that up.

Zoe picks up a pair of tongs and uses them to grab a piece of mail that’s on the counter and casually says, “Well, if you would just let me have the tape dispenser, I’m pretty sure you would find your rings. We were playing pirates and the tape dispenser was our treasure chest and your rings were our buried treasure.”

These kids are totally going to be the death of me. Yo Ho Ho and a bottle of rum.