Some stories do have a happy ending

I'll admit, all the "I lost my ring and it showed up X days/weeks/months/years later" or "it eventually showed up beneath/behind/under the couch/fridge/car seat/bed" stories were starting to get to me, because for all intents and purposes, Simon's ring was gone. And it has had me in a funk all week.

Today is Simon's day off and yesterday I booked a surprise lunch for us at a restaurant we've wanted to try for a long time, probably as long as we've had the small people in our lives when dining out became practically impossible. I thought when we were done, we could go ring shopping. I had mum teed up to babysit.

But he thought he'd have one more crack with the metal detector. He dressed more appropriately this time. Took gloves, and a small metal rake. And a thermos of hot tea. I cancelled the lunch.

I called him twice, he was despondent. He couldn't find it. He sounded close to giving up, and cold, despite the extra layers.

I rang four local police stations, in the vain hope someone walking their dog or some kid at baseball practice had found it during the week, and had done the right thing by handing it in. No such luck.

Then when I was just about to ring and say to give up, come home I get this:

A picture message, which certainly spoke a thousand words.

Thanks for all the concern and great suggestions in the last post. Should he lose it again, we have some great ideas of what we can do to make a new ring special! But for now, I think we'll reschedule the lunch but make an urgent trip to the jewellers to have the ring re-sized. And perhaps I'll suggest he no longer wears it when participating in organised sport on the weekends!

So yes, I think we will be able to look back on the day we first looked for the ring and smile. And laugh.

But damn, I wish everything precious in life that is lost could show up again like this bloody ring.

Happy weekend, folks.