We made it.

Hurrah. My wife and I celebrated the one-month anniversary of our wedding this week. A meagre milestone relative to many other relationships but a month married is a month married and so far at least, it’s been great.

It also means I’ve crossed the one-month threshold for life with a wedding ring.

I must admit I was a bit torn at first about whether or not a ring was for me. Like many of his generation, my Dad never wore a ring. When my siblings and I questioned him about it as kids, we’d joke that no ring would fit around his salami fingers, but he’d always counter by proudly stating that men shouldn’t wear jewellery.

The words must have stuck for, because but for an ill-advised few months in fifth form where I wore a beaded surfer necklace and an oversized chunky goth ring with a demon’s face and two large protruding horns, I’ve not worn more than a watch.

My boss put his ring finger on the scale by telling me you can’t trust a married man without a wedding ring. But when my wife said it was up to me but at the very least she thought I should try it, I ordered simple gold band.

I’m not gonna lie, it was weird at first. It reminded me strangely of having braces on my teeth for the first time, in that all of a sudden you’re going about life with a little piece of you that’s artificial. The morning after our wedding, I woke at dawn and went for a swim. And even though the water was still and calm, I pinched the fingers of my left hand together, paranoid that somehow my ring would slip off and be lost on day one.

I tested it this week, travelling. I fly fairly regularly for work and pride myself on being very organised when it comes to the security scanning – my laptop is always out and ready to go. But having left the ring on my finger, I was alarmed when metal detector buzzed. Oh no, I thought. Don’t tell me the ring is going to ping me every time I pass through security for the rest of my life. I tried again on the return journey. Wore the ring. Didn’t change a thing. No beep. No hold up. No drama.

I fiddle with it. I turn it on my hand and every day or two slide it off to check if my finger hasn’t yet grown too fat. And every now and then when I see my hand, I get a good feeling. That’s right, I think. I’m married.

The ring still feels new. It still feels novel. But a month in, it feels good.

We made it. 
Hurrah. My wife and I celebrated the one-month anniversary of our wedding this week. A meagre milestone relative to many other relationships but a month married is a month married and so far at least, it’s been great. 
It also means I’ve crossed the one-month threshold for life with a wedding ring. 
I must admit I was a bit torn at first about whether or not a ring was for me. Like many of his generation, my Dad never wore a ring. When my siblings and I questioned him about it as kids, we’d joke that no ring would fit around his salami fingers, but he’d always counter by proudly stating that men shouldn’t wear jewellery. 
The words must have stuck for, because but for an ill-advised few months in fifth form where I wore a beaded surfer necklace and an oversized chunky goth ring with a demon’s face and two large protruding horns, I’ve not worn more than a watch. 
My boss put his ring finger on the scale by telling me you can’t trust a married man without a wedding ring. But when my wife said it was up to me but at the very least she thought I should try it, I ordered simple gold band. 
I’m not gonna lie, it was weird at first. It reminded me strangely of having braces on my teeth for the first time, in that all of a sudden you’re going about life with a little piece of you that’s artificial. The morning after our wedding, I woke at dawn and went for a swim. And even though the water was still and calm, I pinched the fingers of my left hand together, paranoid that somehow my ring would slip off and be lost on day one. 
I tested it this week, travelling. I fly fairly regularly for work and pride myself on being very organised when it comes to the security scanning – my laptop is always out and ready to go. But having left the ring on my finger, I was alarmed when metal detector buzzed. Oh no, I thought. Don’t tell me the ring is going to ping me every time I pass through security for the rest of my life. I tried again on the return journey. Wore the ring. Didn’t change a thing. No beep. No hold up. No drama. 
I fiddle with it. I turn it on my hand and every day or two slide it off to check if my finger hasn’t yet grown too fat. And every now and then when I see my hand, I get a good feeling. That’s right, I think. I’m married. 
The ring still feels new. It still feels novel. But a month in, it feels good.

Jack Tame’s crisp perspective, style and enthusiasm makes for refreshing and entertaining Saturday morning radio on Newstalk ZB.

News, sport, books, music, gardens and celebrities – what better way to spend your Saturdays?

Jack Tame’s crisp perspective, style and enthusiasm makes for refreshing and entertaining Saturday morning radio on Newstalk ZB. News, sport, books, music, gardens and celebrities – what better way to spend your Saturdays?

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