My wife was nine months pregnant on a wet, dark, and cold December in Paris. Raining cats and dogs. “La vache qui piss” as the French say. I’d just left my office to jump on my scooter home to get my wife and three-year old, and then take the car to the clinic where son number two would soon be born.
And then I lost my wedding ring.
My fingers had swollen recently so my ring was on my smallest finger, slightly loose. Trying to get into my scooter rain suit while juggling a computer bag, helmet, and keys, all of a sudden the ring popped off and rolled somewhere down Avenue Kléber.