A Mysterious Act on a Rainy Parisian Night
<p>My wife was nine months pregnant on a wet, dark, and cold December in Paris. Raining cats and dogs. <em>“La vache qui piss”</em> 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.</p>
<p>And then I lost my wedding ring.</p>
<p>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.</p>
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