:: How to hurt your jeweler.
The day I decided to ask Zebra to get hitched I walked into this boutique type jewelry store - the owner was the jeweler, cashier, everything… and started talking rings.
I had this idea in my head about an engagement ring that sort'a clicked with the wedding band to make a single - looking - ring. I talked to jeweler girl for a while about it and gave her a budget to start looking for the perfect stone. This was not going to be a huge ring, but it would be unique.
Anyways, that ended up working out very well. We got engaged in late spring and married the following October. I have a bro and a sis - bro married at an outdoor wedding under the watchful eye of Mt. Baker in British Columbia, sis eloped in Scotland. Zebra has two sisters and a bro… he'll never marry, one sis outdoor wedding in Banf, Alberta the other outdoors at Z's units house. Thing is, Z and I both knew that our respective mom's longed for a classic wedding. So we made one of those… right down to the teeniest detail - it was classic. Only non-traditional bit was the complete refusal to hire a real photog. We had friends make vid and at the church we handed out a few 'disposable flash cameras' and at the reception we put a disposable on every table. We collected all the cameras in a bag by the exit at the reception and the pics were phucking awesome!!!!
All of this is just fluff though. The story is about my ring.
I had the same jeweler make the wedding band that fit into Z's engagement ring and make my band. Over the course of all this I got to know Marilynn (jeweler) well enough for her to be up to date on the wedding plans… I was to pick up the rings on the day before the wedding.
We lived together in this little apartment over a couple of stores in little-vietnam (a part of Ottawa). We had this huge place together - we broke up - the Z left on a six-month tour of Europe (backpacking) so I moved into a more affordable place. She came back a month after leaving and we've been together ever since… Now there are three really good stories in that last paragraph alone, but they'll wait for another day. Back to the story.
A good buddy - ultimately, one of my ushers, lived next door and between us and a third apartment beside my friend we all shared a common balcony accessed from doors off all of our kitchens. The inside door was the serious door and then there was a cheep-o screen door on the outside… you know the type of door I mean, it has these little things you lift up on either side of the window to release it and slide it up and down. This is a big heavy window - just in case that was not clear.
Two days before the wedding, Zebra is busy doing something to get fixed up for a 'we're go'en out' deal. I was in something sharper than jeans and T - ready ages before Z as usual. I wanted to go out the back door and knock on Ron's door to chat on the balcony… I thought I'd close the window on the screen door.
Oh man… this is sooo sick. I squeezed up the little thingys and lifted the window up, then I slipped and fell toward the door. My hands connected with the lower, non-moveable window and slid straight down to come to a sudden stop on the frame that would hold the upper window if it was lowered. This kind'a stopped my fall and as I recovered… the upper window dropped SOLID, FAST AND CLEAN.
I moved 7 of my fingers out of the way - thumbs were never an issue. One little pink guy did not move fast enough. >> W H A M ! << Monsignor de la'Guillotine would have been proud.
So, the second to last finger on my left hand was completely freaking smashed to dog turds… (sorry to be so graphic but this does not even begin to do justice to the reality). I screamed bloody murder… lifting my hand to my chest…
Ron came bolting out of his apartment, rounded on my kitchen door to see me standing there with blood all over my shirt and smeared all over the windows. He, of course, immediately concluded that I had just finished killing Zebra (WTF) - as he explained later… it just stuck him, kind'a like a six o'clock news story and yanks open the door calling for Z… She had been drying her hair and actually did not hear the initial incident but did notice the commotion and peeked out of the can to see Ron in my face, blood fucking everywhere and she, of course, concluded Ron was busy killing me (again WTF). Meanwhile, searing white hot screaming pain is exploding like a super nova on my finger. Mayhem ensued.
I finally got to the hospital. By the time they saw me I was a legend throughout the emerg zone. Jokes about going to any length to get out of the marriage, etc. abounded. They used this really cool little gizmo - kind'a of a wire frame cage bigger than your finger that a tube of that marginally stretchy medical / bandage cloth fits over. Then they just move this thing up and down your finger like twenty times and presto! You've got this huge ass bandage. My finger looked like a Elmer Fudd hit's his thumb with a hammer cartoon finger. It was now less than 48 hours to "I do" time.
The best laugh for me was going to get the rings. I went to see Marilynn to pick up the precious cargo and she came out of the back all bubbly about 'tomorrow - the big day!!!". She gets to the counter. I lift my hand up… This mature, professional, serious woman looses it so completely I feared for her health. She's wiping her face, laughing, holding her stomach, forever. She explained later that this actually hurt and she's gun shy around me for shocking surprises.
In the end, I removed the big bandage (once to check and see how gross and clean up and then …) right before the ceremony putting a little flesh-tone number on the actual cut part. Z could only just push the ring over my fingertip when we did the ring thing.