To this ring, I thee wed.

I can go off on diatribes about many aspects of weddings based on archaic traditions. While most normal people see them as sweet and time-honored traditions, I do my usual "looking into things too much" that causes much eye-rolling from all those well-adjusted people in the world: the white dress (women being valued for their virginity); the father giving away his daughter to the groom (exchange of property between men); the name change assumption (who else renamed people? slaveholders); the insanity that There is Love wasn't retired with the 70s. But I've discovered a wedding tradition I can get behind: the ring. Give me a little sparkle and I become a traditional girl.

I just picked up my wedding band from the jewelry store and have five hours until Jimmy gets home and repossesses it until the wedding. He demands that I don't wear it until the big event, but he's got to leave the house sometime, and when he does, that sucker will be right back on. Really, it'd be tragic to not wear it with my engagement ring; it'd be like parting two lovers meant to be together. It'd be spitting in the face of love itself.

Jimmy also chose his wedding band recently. He wasn't nearly as excited about the process as I was, naturally, and asked just how excited a guy could get about a ring. I explained that if the hottest woman in the world came up to him at a bar, he'd have to look at her, then look at the ring, and pick the ring. So it was either finding a ring he loved or being handcuffed to the house. He became more interested in shopping then and found one he really liked. (Although when I asked which was prettier, his ring or Eliza Dushku, I totally sensed some hesitation.)

As for me, I'm now considering a separate ceremony between myself and my ring. Our relationship is only hours old, but off to a beautiful start. Oh, there's love. There is love...