The Thumb Ring and other thoughts.

I noticed something for the first time today when I saw my personal driver of eight years sporting a thumb ring.  Now Julian, or Akbar, or Abigail, or whatever my driver's name is, didn't have one that looked exactly like the forthcoming image, but thumb rings usually go something like this:

Now this particular gentleman has gone above and beyond by adding the pinkie ring, the multiple string bracelets, and a seer sucker jacket and irreverent indie band tee shirt... the list goes on and on.  To quote an early 20th century fashion critic:

"It's burst into flames!  Get out of the way!  Please!  Oh my this is terrible... Oh, the humanity!  And all the passengers!"

This gentleman definitely has all that business going on in this particular snapshot of time.  Now my driver, whether he goes by Phillipe, Alfred, or his college frat nickname The Register, didn't dare fly so close to the sun, but he did have the thumb ring.  And if he could have it, I damn well better have it, too.

So I first went to my jeweler that I keep on retainer that has done some of the most memorable work for the Long Island and West New York irrelevant crime families (come on Russian mob... stop boxing him out!).  His one word response to my inquiry?  Classy.  He suggested that I don't go gently into this particular good night, so I triple-downed on the idea.  The advantages of the three rings should be obvious, but the two I keep falling in love with are how I can no longer bend my thumb and how the ring closest to the tip flies off whenever I talk with my hands.  I actually looked up the definition of windfall and saw those to tidbits there.

The real test of the thumb rings will be tonight when my Thursday night escort weighs in.  We'll go through our normal routine of snuggling up to watch $#"! My Dad Says before I totally plow her, and then BAM!  I'll flash the circular trifecta.  Of course, now that I think about it, I might lose some of the rings all up inside... that thing I do with my fingers... probably nothing a lot of sterile medical adhesive can't fix.

As for Thanksgiving Day last week.  I may have spent it alone, but it was never lonely.  Thanks to the sexagenarian quartet animatronic fashionistas of Sex and the City who always have their feet grounded in the real world coping with the problems of real people (at least I assume that's what real people face since I've never met one).  And the Moo Shoo Gai Pan from Eddie's Moo Shoo Gai Pan and Tacos was divine.

Unfortunately, my writing has stalled over the holiday.  Here's hoping inspiration strikes while my Thursday night escort (Betty?  Britney?  Kate?  Paul?  Who even knows...) tries to decide whether or not to interrupt my somnambulating even when I step out onto the balcony.