This post contains some disgusting stuff, including bugs and, well, poop. You might want to skip to the end. If not…my apologies.
We chose our wedding bands on Saturday. It was a trip Mr. Puffer and I have been looking forward to ever since we first got engaged. His parents’ wedding gift to us is the jewelry: the resetting and resizing of my heirloom set, and the purchase of Mr. Puffer’s band. Our plan was to meet them for lunch, then head to the jewelry store. Later, Puff and I were planning on spending the day together—a walk through a park, followed by dinner at a favorite restaurant.
At In House Jewelers, in Phoenix, MD
That plan changed when I saw worms falling out of the cat’s butt.
(Several weeks later, and I still can’t stop shuddering.)
How Philip, our eight-month-old kitten, ended up with tapeworm, I have no idea. We don’t let the cats outdoors ever, and we give prescription flea treatment to all four pets. The vet thinks he might have ingested an infected dead flea or flea egg that dropped off the dog. Whatever happened, about 15 minutes before we were supposed to leave, we were instead freaking out over what looked to be grains of rice dropping from kitten to sofa. (Gag.)
We love him, but we didn’t want to touch him on Saturday.
We called Puff’s parents, told them we’d be late, and headed to the vet, freshly collected stool samples from all the pets in hand. (That’s the poop I mentioned.) Then we sat around the vet’s office, taking turns cracking jokes to see which one could make the other shudder the most as we waited for the diagnosis. (The dog was clear; the cats were questionable.) Then we got into a fight on the drive home about whether or not to isolate the cats, since we didn’t know if one or all had worms. Then we fought again as we administered dewormer to the cats about whose fault this was. Then we made up and finally got on the road to meet his parents.
So the day we’d been looking forward to for months didn’t turn out exactly as we’d planned. Instead of a walk in the park, we spent two hours at the laundromat, sterilizing all of our comforters and sheets (more for peace of mind than any practical reason). But we still went out for dinner and had a great time afterward in the restaurant’s vintage arcade (I kicked his butt in Pole Position). Oh, and we got our bands.
That’s what this post is about, right?
In House Jewelers in Phoenix, Maryland carries commercial jewelry lines and creates amazing custom work. The owner is also the main artist; he’s the one who suggested keeping the original setting for my engagement ring to retain the antique look. I can’t thank him enough.
My band is also an heirloom. I know nothing about jewelry and will probably get this wrong, but I think it is a channel-set baguette diamond band. It needs to be resized, so here’s just a sneak peek of what the set will look like.
Crappy photo, sorry. My camera died, so I had to use Puff’s old phone.
But this trip was primarily about Mr. Puffer’s band. While his family has a lot of inherited jewelry for women, there aren’t a lot of men’s wedding rings floating around. He was getting a new band—and he had a number of options to choose from.
Right away, he ruled out all of the tungsten bands. While I liked the rugged, masculine sheen they had, Puff thought they looked cheap. He also eliminated platinum. My engagement ring is platinum, but neither of us thought a plain man’s band warranted the high price tag platinum carries. That left gold.
Checking out the options with his dad
Here’s where the surprise came in. I only wear silver (or silver-colored metals). Personally, I do not care for yellow or rose gold. Puff also wears silver: two silver bracelets and a silver ring on his right hand. Had I chosen his wedding band on my own, without his input, I would have picked a ring that matched the little jewelry he already owns. It would have been rugged, masculine, and probably tungsten.
What did he pick?
Yes, my guy picked yellow gold. When I asked why he would choose yellow when he wears silver, he said, “I wouldn’t feel married otherwise.” The men in his family wear yellow gold bands, so he thinks anything else just wouldn’t looks like a wedding ring. I’m not a huge fan of it, but my opinion doesn’t matter. He’s the one who has to wear it, and if he’s happy, I’m happy.
Once Mr. Puffer had settled on his band, a weird look came over his face. Both his mother and I spotted it immediately. “Trying on the ring makes it all the more real, doesn’t it?” his mom asked. When he nodded, she added, “Don’t get nervous. You don’t have to wear it for months yet.”
“I’m not nervous,” Puff said. He looked at me. “Now I can’t wait for the wedding.”
And that alone made the crazy morning of vets and pills and fights worth it.
I could have done without the worms, though.
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