THE MAGIC OF THE RING

Christa contends that The Ring bestows special powers upon its wearer. She has not been granted eternal life with the accompanying vocal tick of Gollum, but there have been hints of good fortune, as she interprets them.

For example, on the way home from informing the families, we were not able to reserve seats for the Chicago-to-LA leg of our trip. We were told to speak with the gate representative thirty minutes before flight time. We figured we would be sitting apart from one another, near the lavatories. So she “put The Ring to work,” as she described it. At the counter, she handed our tickets to the woman left-handedly and left The Ring on display on the countertop. Somehow, not possibly by the airline overbooking economy, we were given first-class seats. Ten more flight upgrades, and Tiffany and I can call it even.

Another instance of the power she experienced was that, within a single hour at the mall, three older gentlemen came up and, out of nowhere, said something like, “You’re purty.” “That stuff doesn’t happen to me,” she said.

All I could think was: That was a blessing—your very own lecherous old men? It’s a Festivus miracle.

Then I realized that the power of The Ring had been extended to me. No gloriously handsome, wealthy but humble, honest but flattering, fine piece of ass had approached her. It had been a selection of random older guys—suitors I could, hopefully, compete with easily. Suitors I could possibly out-woo on looks alone. Thank you almighty ring!
- Drew Lloyd
From "Will You?" to "I Do.": A Groom's Tale of Survival