SO, LAST Thursday night I lost my wedding band.

I don't know how this happened.

I know sort of where - Station Park or the Clearview Public Library, both in Stayner.

But, obviously, I don't know the location well enough or I would have my ring back - assuming no one found it and took it.

My guess is I lost the ring while scooping ice cream at Music in the Park. My hands were wet periodically, as I tried to keep the sticky ice cream off them, so maybe, at some point, the ring slipped off.

Or, perhaps, I lost it while cleaning up the garbage after. The newspaper provided the ice cream as a thank you to readers for their continued support and after the last scoop was served there was a bit of a mess to take care of. So, perhaps it slipped off then and got stuck in the empty ice cream cone box.

Another theory is that after the clean up, when I went to the washroom at the library, the ring slipped off my finger while I was washing my hands.

That said, my friend Big Rod arranged to have the trap on the drainpipe checked and there was no ring.

So, you see, there are several theories but no clear answers. Sort of like who shot John F. Kennedy. Or what really happened to Amelia Earhart.

Maybe someone will want to make a movie about all this?

The Case of The Missing Ring.

Better yet, Ring Around The Reporter.

Personally, I would like Leo DiCaprio to play me.

Or, Humphrey Bogart.

Scratch that - Bogie's dead.

At any rate, I was really mad about losing my ring.

So much so that I left Music in the Park 30 minutes early.

I went home, poured three fingers of Glenfiddich and sulked on the back deck with my Labrador, Ivory. Just to make sure the scene was perfect, I smoked a stogie and listened to Frank Sinatra on the stereo.

That's life...Frank said in one song.

And yet my foul mood didn't dissipate.

You see I kind of wanted to be an old, gnarled, retired newspaperman and still have my wedding band - the original one that is.

"Been married now 50-odd years," I'd say some day, sitting on a park bench, talking to a young whippersnapper sitting at the other end of the bench.

"Really?" he'd say.

"Yup," I'd reply. "I'm pretty lucky to have Mrs. Gennings."

"You're Mr. Gennings?" the youngster would say. "Old Mr. Gennings who used to work down at the newspaper office?"

Of course, I'd nod and light my pipe.

"Yep," I'd continue, exhaling a puff of smoke. "Mrs. Gennings' company has been about the best gift ever."

The youngster would look at me and I'd fiddle with my wedding band, scuffed and aged looking before launching into some long account about the virtues of a good woman.

Why I would be sitting on a bench in a park I don't know - but it's an image I have in my head nonetheless.

Scenarios aside, Mrs. Gennings arrived home from Music in the Park shortly after 9 p.m.

"You're not gonna cry?" she said, as I continued sulking on the deck, Frank now singing New York, New York.

"No," I said, scratching Ivory behind the ear. "Men don't cry, except in their cars on the way home from work, when they're alone."

Mrs. Gennings nodded that way she sometimes does.

She disagrees with the whole 'Men don't cry' stance I have.

A few more minutes went by.

"You know," she said, "it doesn't really matter. It's just a ring. You can go get another one."

Now it was my turn to nod.

"I know," I said, after a bit. "But it still kind of stinks. I know all kinds of people who've been married, some for like a million years, and they haven't lost their wedding band."

Mrs. Gennings shook her head.

"So what. It's not a big deal."

And you know what?

The missus was right.

The next morning I woke up and it didn't seem like such a big deal.

And so later that morning I went to the jewellery store and bought a new ring. Same as the one I lost.

"Was the one you lost loose on your finger," the sales lady asked.

"Not really." I replied. "It never fell off before."

The sales lady sized my finger.

"Well, don't worry honey," she said, "you're not alone. Men come in all the time because they've lost their ring. Some men don't even tell their wife. Does your wife know," she asked.

I nodded.

"And she's not mad," the sales lady asked.

"Nope," I said. "She's really good that way. I'm just mad at myself."

The sales lady finished sizing my finger.

"Well don't worry then. It's just a ring. It's not that big a deal."

And so, I've come to realize, it really isn't.

It's just a ring.

Still, losing it kind of stunk.

I guess if it happens again it won't be such a big deal.

You can only lose your first wedding band once.

And, if I'm lucky, maybe some day I'll still get to be an old guy who sits in a park and dispenses marriage advice.