I really should take a picture of what I'm talking about here.
I woke up this a.m. and was vividly recalling a Sunday many years ago. I was five or six years old. And I was sitting in the back row of the church with my friends, Kathie Kenders, Linda Wallace, and Sue Youngblood. Mrs. Youngblood was sitting right in front of this quartet of five-seven-year-olds and so we were behaving -- mostly.
I had/have a ring. It was given to me by my grandmother Drexler shortly after I was born. Of course I don't remember that particular event, and am just going on what my mom told me.
Anyway, it is/was a gold ring set with a small emerald. I was only permitted to wear that ring on Sunday morning, and I had to ask permission prior to wearing it. As soon as I got home from church I had to return it to its box -- a small ring box -- which resided in of all places, mom's money drawer. That was a drawer in her dressing table in which she "safed" the weekly stash on which we lived.
Well, this particular Sunday, I decided to put the ring in my mouth. No, I didn't swallow it. I did however bit on it, and not realizing that gold is soft and if thin enough it will become damaged, I dented the bottom part of the ring. I put a wrinkle in the roundness of the ring. Not wanting my mother to know what I'd done, and feeling really awful about it, I put the ring away as soon as I got home. Since the emerald side was showing and not the wrinkle I figured I was safe.
But when the next Sunday came and I didn't request to wear my ring, I guess mom got suspicious. She knew that every Sunday I wanted to wear that ring. So she took it out of the box and found out what I had done. Uh-oh! No spanking, just a lecture (which was worse).
Good ending to story: I was permitted to wear the ring every Sunday, I just had to promise to keep it out of my mouth. Which I did.
I wonder why that Sunday is so vivid in my mind right now. Oh well. I still have the ring, and it's still bent, but it doesn't fit any of my fingers any more.