Problems with my ring

A typical AB story... and it doesnt even involve water.

Well, almost...

Mistress P is in hiding somewhere in South America (Santiago Chile to be exact...) so I was home alone again. Its autumn, and although autumn teased us and came late this year, its finally arrived with a vengence. Cool nights, but most depressingly, windless days.

I still need my water fix though.

So lunchtime came on my second weekend home alone, and i was cooped inside as it was not only windless, but raining as well, and the plans for a MTB ride had been shelved. I'd just been to Bunnings ("If this is Bunnings then it must be Sunday") and was tootling home and hungry.

"Blow this boring home-stuff" i said, and grabbed some lunch and the paper, and headed to the infamous Green Point to watch the gannets and gobble a pie.

As i was reading the paper and gazing out to sea, I didnt even realise that i was mindlessly spinning my wedding ring on my finger. Never been a jewelery person myself, and never really considered i would wear a ring if/when i got married, but when the time finally came to hitch up I couldnt see any reason why NOT to wear one either. So it got slapped on. And its been loktite-d there ever since.

Anyway - mindlessly spinning the ring on my finger and reading the paper when all of a sudden... "PING"; off it flipped. (The ring, not the finger...)

"Shite.." I said as it landed next to me, took a Warne-to-Gatting-like leg break, and dissapeared into the void between the seat and the door.
"Oh double shite..."

Put my hand under the seat...
"Mmmm.. where is that bastard?"
Reached around behind..
"Oh come on.. bloody thing..."

By this stage i was starting to feel slightly, well, naked. The poor finger hadnt been free this long in over 3 years.

"Oh you fuggin...."

I went to get out of the car.

"Oh shite!!" - huge puddle below me.

Drove back and parked where i wasnt going to drown.
Put my head under the seat.
{in my best Leyton Hewitt voice} "OH COME ON!!!!"
Not there.
Slid the seat as far forward as it could go and climbed into the back seat to look under the drivers chair.
"WHAT THE..??!!"
Not there.

By now people were looking at the strange 10-metre-driving, door-leaping-out-of, bizzarre-gymnastics-in-the-back-seat, truckie-like-swearing, maniac. I was just in a stupor. Of stupidity.

"THATS IT - I'M GOING HOME IF YOU DONT COUGH IT UP YOU BASTARD!!!"

The car didnt respond. The people around me started phoning for the grey van...

"Ohhh fugg it."

I drove home to get a light so i could see what i was doing. Surely it was just under there on the carpet ready to be found and the Mistress P would never know my ring-twiddling ways.

Arrive home. Get the 10W bike light out and just about blind myself shining it into ever nook and cranny i could find under the seat, behind the seat, in the seat mechanism and into the doors Melways holder.

{best McEnroe voice} "YOU CANT BE SERIOUS!!!!!"

Nowhere to be found.

As my mind started to race about how i would tell Mistress P that the ring had just leapt off into space and been gobbled by the ruby-subarooby, i told myself to start thinking logically.

"Ok, its either back in the puddle at the car park somehow or.... what are those hole things under there...???"

Under the seat were some cuts, bordering on holes, in the flooring/carpet, for which i could ascertain no other reason than to trap poor blokes wedding rings and make them feel like a complete dickhead.

I ditched the car park idea and tried to investgiate the holes. How in the wide wide world of sports is a bloke able to look down them and under the carpet - they're under the bloody seat???

I twisted, i turned, i burped, i farted... "how many PhD's does it take to look down some holes?"

I cracked it.
"IF ITS GUNNA BE THAT WAY YA BASTARD I'M DOING SURGERY! YA KNOW YA DONT WANT THAT...!"

But RubySuby refused to cough up.

"RIGHT!"

And out came the socket set. And out came the seat. And out came the carpet.

And there she was. Just sitting there on the painted metal all innocent and sweet and shining and, i swear, giggling at me. Little ring-mongrel.

With the bastard-child safely attached to the monogamy finger, and suddenly feeling a whole lot less naked, the carpet was relaid and the seat bolted back to the chassis. All that bloody effort for an inanimate piece of metal. Which i felt strangely and completely exposed without.

(Dont try this at home folks.)