This morning, my husband whipped off his wedding ring over our elegant breakfast of bacon and pancakes.
As he admired his freed hand, his glaring white ring tan line a forever mark against his ability to pass him off as a single man, I inspected his ring in horror.
Bent and tarnished, his ring looked like it was barely hanging on by a thread. But looking a little more closely at it, I realized, underneath the scuffs and scratches, his ring was holding strong and true.
Which got me thinking, his ring was more than a simple band of metal around his finger…