We have a lot of fears. Some make sense; others, not so much. This latter type will be featured once monthly until we run out of material, at which point, we might begin accepting the fears of our readers. 

The women of my family all love rings. They lavishly adorn themselves with up to three rings per finger, like crazy people. Meanwhile, I can’t even wear a one. Many times so far throughout my life, I have been talked into “just trying on” one of their rings, and I can’t resist, because the jewels glitter. A ring is supposed to be snug so that it doesn’t fall off and you subsequently lose some of your riches. However, if a ring is even the slightest bit snug, the moment I notice, I am gripped with this panic. I scramble at my own hand and am all such as, “get it off of me GET IT OFF OF ME.” Normally, it comes right off, but not before I imagine my finger rapidly turning black and dropping away, stinking and fetid, like I’m suddenly caught in some medieval amputation procedure.

I regret it, a little. I know that rings can get in the way of many daily tasks. And I would hate to lose one, or break away the stone. But I enjoy accessories. However, I do not enjoy the feeling of being trapped, or the thought of losing digits. I keep stretching out my fingers and assuring them that they are free as I write this.