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One day to go, and ixnay to diamonds and gold

My hands and fingers will be working hard the next couple of days. Schlepping, hauling, lifting, shoving, adjusting, shoehorning, pulling, and unpacking will all take their toll on the cuticles. My nails are clipped Martha-Stewart, farm-wife, 1940s-movie-star, working-girl, waitress short. I’ll wear a cheap watch between my elbows and fingertips. No rings, no bracelets, nothing to get in the way of travel-work.

My wedding and engagement rings have been locked up in a safe deposit box eversince my mother-in-law caught her wedding ring on the door jam hardware of her office, fell forward, and ripped her ring finger clean off. When my father-in-law heard of Dorothy’s accident, he told us he’d almost had the same thing happen when his wedding ring snagged on a piece of metal in an airplane he was about to parachute out of. As soon as I heard about these accidents, I took my rings off.

I don’t need to advertise being married, and I certainly don’t need to attract a thief’s attention with diamonds and gold. No logos or jewelry will give away information. Dark, plain clothes and a look that’s functional and undecorated: that’s my presentation. A simple manicure at a French salon in the next week can repair any damage.

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