a kiss on the hand may be quite continental

A few years ago, I inherited a ring. We've kept it in a safe deposit box at the bank ever since, but today we closed the safe deposit box and brought the ring home. I've been wearing it all day (on my right hand, I don't want to jinx anything) and I can't stop staring at it. It's sparkly. It's flawless. It's perfect. It's worth more than double my annual salary. I'm in love.

I now understand why the newly enfianceed gesticulate more wildly and dramatically with their hands, take asinine typing jobs that are beneath them, wave to strangers, glint, glimmer, glow.

I don't want to take it off. (Obviously, I have to. But not until I type some more!)