Newlywed Living: The Ring

Maybe this year's holidays included an extra special something for you to open under the tree? Or maybe you're out searching, right now, for the perfect wedding bands with your extra-special-sweetie-doodle-pie?

Either way, I'm here to warn you: adjusting to living with a ring isn't easy. I take mine off at least twice a week.

No, I'm not one of those guys who sits at a bar in Grand Central Station chatting up the pretty bartenders to avoid going home to sleepy suburban lives in Westchester. I'm not a cliché, I'm a nerd. A big dorky man-sized nerd who goes to a karate class at the YMCA. Yeah, that's right Daniel Larusso, this Karate Kid kicks-it old-school style at the Y. The class has, for good and obvious reasons, a strict no-jewelry policy. "Whoa, is that a 'brass' knuckle or princess cut diamond dagger coming at my face?" And let me tell you. For someone whose manly knuckles connect relatively slender metacarpals and phalanges, removing one's ring is not exactly a pain-free exercise.

But the FIRST time I realized that living with a ring was going to be different was during my first post "I-do" shower. (Get your mind out of the gutter, I was alone.) The doubt, the questions, the panic began to flood the shower basin.

What kind of high school chemistry club experiment was I uncorking? What happens when you mix a rhodium-free, 14k white gold symbol of one's eternal love and devotion with pyrithium zinc and hot water?

Would I have to give up my Head & Shoulders dandruff shampoo for love? Could she love me with a flaky scalp? Maybe I could wash my hair with my right hand only? Maybe... should I take the ring off? If I took off the ring, would the Newlywed Enforcer Team (NET) strike me down with devastating shuto sakotsu uchis (I bet you didn't know that NET agents study karate too)? Arrrrrgggghhhhhh....

In the end, I engineered a compromise worthy of an ambidextrous Cirque du Soleil contortionist. I defied my own personal physics by pouring the shampoo with my left hand into its opposite, smeared said shampoo on head with right hand only, then massaged my scalp with only the fingertips of my be-ringed left hand while using, simultaneously, the full breadth of my right hand. Lest you think I am exaggerating the skill required for this act, I dare you to try it yourself.

The challenges didn't end there. Oh no.

After the honeymoon, on which we were served all of our meals with Peruvian flair, I found myself back in our 4th floor walk-up apartment. I was staring at a crusted-over, soupy sauté pan that had been soaking all night and was ready for the business side of blue scrubby sponge. What to do? It seemed so wrong to go wrist deep into the murky mess of last night's dinner remains with the ring clinging to the edge of my knuckle for dear life. And yet, there it was. A nasty pan that needed cleaning. And so the ring and I started scrubbing.

Now that I'm a veteran of married living (4 months 11 days makes me a veteran right?), I regularly allow my hammered white gold wedding band to get slathered in shampoo, dish detergent, and crusty burnt onions re-hydrated and marinated with greasy dish water and Penzy's Taco Bold spices (accept no substitute). And it's doing just fine. In fact, I think, it probably looks a little better than it did before.

P.S. I still take it off when making meatballs, but I suspect that in another 4 months, I'll be diving into the gooey mixture of ground turkey, bread crumbs, egg and assorted spices with carefree-abandon. Stay tuned for that recipe in a future post.