Goldfinger

I have removed my wedding ring. My fingers are nude.

No, Mrs. Undaground and I are not having marital problems. We are a happy couple with a union based on compromise, love, and a mutual affection for goat cheese, among other things.

I'm not going to lie. I've gained 10 pounds since my wedding; not too bad considering it's been a year-and-a-half and I haven't done much to stop it. For some unexplainable reason, I've gained about 7 of those pounds in my fingers.

It's been a gradual thing. There were times just after the wedding, where I thought my ring might slip off. I had to be extremely careful when working with soap, butter, hand cream, motor oil, pickle juice, tomato sauce, ranch dressing and other natural and unnatural lubricants. I see myself in the mirror every day, so it was difficult for me to see the changes, until one day I overheard some teenagers at the mall giggling behind my back. After taking a full personal inventory later that day, I concluded that they were laughing at my fat fingers.

What was once a simple, traditional, elegant symbol of my marriage had morphed into something different. My finger and wedding band now looked less like the closeup photo taken on our wedding day and more like Kirstie Alley crammed into a pair of biker shorts.

Mrs. Undaground has agreed to bring the ring in to our jeweler and have him stretch it a half-size. She needs to go anyway to have her ring polished. That's a good thing, because every time I walk in there, I feel pressure to buy a watch or something. Neither of us need a watch, but he's a nice guy and I feel like we have to buy something every once and awhile so we can continue to refer to him as "our jeweler".

In the interim, I really have to be vigilant. People talk. For the next few days, strangers will look at me and think: "Look at the single guy. He'll never find a wife with those chubby digits. How can he even button his shirt with those hot dogs on his hand? What a loser. Hope he doesn't disassemble explosive devices or perform interpretive dance. How distracting."

I guess I could take the concert pianist route and wear gloves. Do they even make plus-size gloves? Maybe I'll check the big and tall store, or pick up a couple of catcher's mitts at the Sports Authority.