I don’t wear a wedding ring because marriage isn’t who I am
As a symbol, the wedding ring increasingly feels like the wrong one to accurately portray modern love in America.
While having cocktails with a friend, a man at the other end of the bar ambled towards me and struck up a conversation. I fielded his hiccup-punctuated inquiries with polite disinterest, trying unsuccessfully to discourage further conversation. When he asked me if I wanted a drink I demurred, “You can if you want, but you should know I’m married.” He looked at my left hand and became frustrated. “You’re not wearing a wedding ring! That’s false advertising.”
I wanted to explain to the gentleman that I am a human being and not a picture of a hamburger in a magazine, but given the gasoline-grade alcohol on his breath, I simply apologized and he walked away. I didn’t exactly fault his anger, because somewhere along the way, everyone decided married folks must identify ourselves, and I didn’t choose to go along with it. Whenever you don’t go along, I’ve learned, you’re bound to pay some price.
When I was a young feminist, walking into the world with ovaries blazing, I rejected the notion of a typical diamond ring for all the predictable reasons you would assume I might. Its history is fraught with sexism, used…
