The Danger of Weight Loss

Between meetings at church I went to use the restroom and found a turd and some toilet paper floating in the toilet bowl, which normally isn't enough to gross me out, since I've been attending a public university for nearly fifteen years (which, yes, is as sad as it sounds, since I'm not attempting to become a plastic surgeon) and I've come to terms with America's inability to flush after using a public toilet.

I reached forward to flush the toilet, and my wedding ring, which fit fine 35 pounds ago, slid off my finger and into the already-occupied toilet. It didn't fall directly in; rather, it bounced off the seat with a ping and then hopped to the other side of the seat. Three pings later, it plopped into the water, just missing the turd, and settled at the bottom of the bowl.

I stared horrified at the scene before me and contemplated my options. I bought the ring for fifteen dollars at a state fair, so flushing it really wouldn't put a financial strain on us. But the sentimental romantic in me began rolling up my sleeves, knowing what had to be done. I'll spare you the details of what happened next, but after washing my hands and arm in scalding water for the next five minutes, I decided it was time to retire my silver wedding band.

I found the gold ring Laura bought me when I was a young, skinny groom, which I haven't been able to wear for ten years. It fits great, but I think from now on I'll play it safe and just use my foot to flush public toilets.