When I was on vacation in Ireland last month, I bought myself a ring. It wasn't particularly expensive, but when I saw it, I knew it had to be mine. It was a delicate silver Claddagh ring that fit nicely on my pinkie finger. Okay, so it was a little loose, but I have man-fingers; it would probably have fit on many of my friends' ring fingers, but not mine. Determined, I settled on it being my loosely-fitting pinkie ring. My loosely-fitting pinkie ring that I loved.
The Claddagh is an outward sign of your love, friendship, and loyalty (read: your relationship status). And being the single gal I am, I figured why not use this subtle, er obvious, accessory to proclaim: "Hey, Boys. Come and get it. This one's available!"
Last Friday, I was leaving work in a flurry. My hands were full of assorted items: keys, loose papers I had just picked up off the printer and not shoved into my bag, water bottle, cell phone, etc. As I got to my level of the parking garage I started walking directly to my car and noticed there was a car coming toward me--apparently such a flurry that I forgot to look both ways before crossing the driveway. I made some crazy gestures with all of my items in tow, which somehow were intended to be my sign to the driver that I was sorry and that I was hurrying to get across. Through my theatrics, I saw the glint of something flying through the air and heard a dainty little clink on the cement. It was my ring. There I was, standing in the middle of the driveway with no open hands, ring in the road, my car only a couple yards away, and a Corolla bearing down on me.
So what did I do? I decided to get to my car, put my stuff in it, let the car pass and then go pick up my ring.
Note to self: When you drop something valuable (sentimental or otherwise), you should probably stop to pick it up.
I got to my car and turned around just in time to see that Corolla run right over my ring! Squarely. I stood there, mouth agape and amazed. Then I laughed really loudly. What were the odds? When I picked up the ring, it was completely flattened.
Holding the ring in the palm of my hand, in the middle of the 3rd floor of the parking garage, my laughter quickly turned into an agonizing sob as I thought about the symbolism of this all. The loosely-fitting pinkie ring I love, the one that represents love and relationships, was squished by a crappy car. What is that supposed to mean?
My mom tried to console me (through her laughter and my tears) that it only means I should have picked up the ring. But I still can't help but wonder... is this the parking garage gods trying to tell me to give into the bitter single woman that I feel starting to grow inside of me?
The Claddagh is an outward sign of your love, friendship, and loyalty (read: your relationship status). And being the single gal I am, I figured why not use this subtle, er obvious, accessory to proclaim: "Hey, Boys. Come and get it. This one's available!"
Last Friday, I was leaving work in a flurry. My hands were full of assorted items: keys, loose papers I had just picked up off the printer and not shoved into my bag, water bottle, cell phone, etc. As I got to my level of the parking garage I started walking directly to my car and noticed there was a car coming toward me--apparently such a flurry that I forgot to look both ways before crossing the driveway. I made some crazy gestures with all of my items in tow, which somehow were intended to be my sign to the driver that I was sorry and that I was hurrying to get across. Through my theatrics, I saw the glint of something flying through the air and heard a dainty little clink on the cement. It was my ring. There I was, standing in the middle of the driveway with no open hands, ring in the road, my car only a couple yards away, and a Corolla bearing down on me.
So what did I do? I decided to get to my car, put my stuff in it, let the car pass and then go pick up my ring.
Note to self: When you drop something valuable (sentimental or otherwise), you should probably stop to pick it up.
I got to my car and turned around just in time to see that Corolla run right over my ring! Squarely. I stood there, mouth agape and amazed. Then I laughed really loudly. What were the odds? When I picked up the ring, it was completely flattened.
Holding the ring in the palm of my hand, in the middle of the 3rd floor of the parking garage, my laughter quickly turned into an agonizing sob as I thought about the symbolism of this all. The loosely-fitting pinkie ring I love, the one that represents love and relationships, was squished by a crappy car. What is that supposed to mean?
My mom tried to console me (through her laughter and my tears) that it only means I should have picked up the ring. But I still can't help but wonder... is this the parking garage gods trying to tell me to give into the bitter single woman that I feel starting to grow inside of me?
1 comment:
Note to you: I commented on another post because I thought it was your first post and then I realized it wasn't. So those comments now can be applied to THIS post. Basically it said, I'm glad you have a blog. :)
Anyway, I can totally hear your mom laughing at your story while you're crying. Why is that? I'm sorry that happened, but it is a teensy bit funny. Maybe one of your labels should read, "Tragic, but a teensy bit funny."
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