So the hubby’s a little sick today. I was scrounging around the house for loose change, and a memory snuck up and said hello.
We were living in Chicago in 2000. My husband Picasso was sick, and I was scrounging around the house for loose change. I absent-mindedly stuck my hand in his black leather jacket.
I felt a ring box, and there certainly was something inside it!
I waited a killer day or two for Picasso to feel better, and then I told him that I found the ring by mistake. Coyly, I asked him the meaning behind the ring.
He told me that it was a promise ring. Not an engagement ring, mind you, but a promise ring.
Whaaaaaat? I moved from New York to Chicago to live with this man, and at the moment, I was indignant that the best he could come up with was a promise ring.
I left the ring box on the window sill in our bedroom for days, with the window almost always open.
Out on a lunch date with a friend, I told her what was going on, and how disappointed I was. She said, “You know, he got that ring for you with all of his heart. Why don’t you accept this ring for now, and say thank you?”
Well, since I’m prone to the dramatic-lol-I invited my husband out to the 2 Amigos restaurant for lunch. With a flourish, I placed the ring box on the table, and said that I knew that he planned to give me that ring with all of his corazoncito, and that I’d accept the promise ring, muchisimas gracias amorcito.
Picasso looked at me with a serious face, but bemused eyes, and said,”O.K.”My husband isn’t publicly prone to the dramatic-lol-so I put the ring on right there in the 2 Amigos restaurant.
That promise ring is now my wedding ring.
At the end of the day, that’s what a marriage is, no? A promise and a prayer.