Why Wear a Wedding Ring?

MB Sanok on the plusses and minuses of wearing a wedding ring – and why a tattoo might be easier. Read more from MB on her blog, Maple Brown Sugar.

The day we picked up our wedding bands was cloudy and lackluster. We drove into Philadelphia to Jeweler’s Row over the bridge. While we drove on what seemed like an ordinary day, we saw something we’d never forget or refrain from laughing about ever again.

Halfway through our ride around Admiral Wilson Boulevard, cars stopped short and clustered into a spectacular traffic jam. “What was this mess?!?” we asked each other. It wasn’t a protest or a riot or an accident or even a hooker-sighting — two dogs, smack in the middle of the highway were stuck together in a mating ritual, stirring up traffic, causing cars to swerve wildly out of control amid excessive, loud beeping and expletive-laden yelling out of windows. So unbelievable was the spectacle that we couldn’t stop laughing, and my husband nearly ran off the road, so close to veering over the bridge, hyperventilating from shock and amusement. Although we never found out what happened to the dogs, we received a surprising wedding gift of a crazy story and good luck symbol to start off our marriage.

Wearing these rings, however, is another story. I failed to wear my rings out again. Usually, at home, I don’t wear them despite the obstacles we faced to retrieve them, the fact that we have a good marriage, and I love how they look. But whenever I use my hands for whatever task presents itself like cleaning, writing or just milling about the house, they feel awkward and like a distraction. Rarely will you find me wearing them to bed — I’d mistakenly scratch myself silly and believe a ghost attacked me.

When I go out for an appointment, I make sure I put on my sparkling gems. After all, the rings signal my married status, my husband spent a good sum of money on them, and I enjoy watching them glitter and flash when I move in the right direction. Still, I always remove my rings whenever I come home.

Truth be told, I’m a jewelry lover and would drape myself in baubles, beads and bangles if I bore the guts to do so, and Harry Winston bestowed his million dollar creations upon me. As a little girl, I’d gaze into my mom’s diamond engagement ring with awe, staring at the rainbow array of sparks. In church especially, with the bright lights and colorful stained glass windows surrounding us, the diamonds would capture my attention, dazzling me during the lulls. I always dreamed of a beautiful diamond ring, symbolizing that someone loved me that much and also because my bony, nail-picked fingers look more delicate, dainty and dressed up with a ring slipped on.

In my father’s line of work, he never wore his ring lest his fingers get caught in any machinery he worked on. As a mechanical engineer, he designed and put together machines that built things like light bulbs, so a ring became an occupational hazard.

With my husband, he won’t wear his ring, either. He worries it will slip off, especially when the wintertime chill loosens the ring around his finger. When we bought our rings, he first chose a cheap, indistinct band. I insisted he select a much nicer one that was elegant and timeless with more detailing. My husband, though, isn’t a man prone to wearing jewelry. Mostly due to discomfort and awkwardness but also because he doesn’t like too much attention drawn to him by a flash of gold. He’d be more likely to wear a fully-stocked utility belt like Batman, ready for action like MacGyver.

Although my fingers never swelled during either pregnancy, I took them off until I gave birth to my children. Too many horror stories of rings being dangerously cut off fingers, never to be repaired, echoed in my mind.

When I banged my engagement ring against the car door by accident one morning, the prongs bent so much that the main diamond almost fell out. I knew I shouldn’t have worn it! I stopped wearing it until it was fixed. When I told my husband, he suggested that I get it redone for our 10th anniversary. Shocking that the guy who was annoyed that the jeweler beat him to the punch and gave me the option of a diamond wedding band was now offering me more glitz.

Always having loved old-fashioned jewelry with filigree, I opted for a ring with gingerbread and a few more sparkles. A real vintage ring, although exquisite, made me superstitious that it could be cursed. Either way, I loved my new rings even more than my first, but I still take them off, worrying about distraction, damage or loss, sparking more superstitions about the state of our marriage with those scenarios.

Sometimes, I wonder why we even bothered with rings and didn’t consider tattoos instead. I mean, we ventured out into the wilds, averting dogs in their most perverse positions, succumbing to potential danger, to get these rings. Why? When we are together, laughing, talking, relating to one another and spending time together that itself truly represents our marriage more than a scrap of shiny metal and precious, sparkling stones. I even feel a tingle in my ring finger whether or not I wear them which must mean something. Sure, you can put a ring on it (and I do treasure mine), but will it last forever if it’s just a piece of jewelry and nothing else?