If the ring fits, wear it. On the other hand, if the ring doesn’t fit, NO amount of hand lotion or elbow grease is going to get it on or off your finger. As I have written before, that was the situation with my current wedding, a beautiful gold and platinum affair Barb had picked out about 15 anniversaries ago.

We’ve been pretty busy, and the ring has sat in my jewelry box for the last few months, waiting for the time that Barb and I could get to the shop at which she bought the ring to see if they could help me out. We finally made the trip a few weeks ago, visiting the jewelry store during a quiet time on a rainy Saturday afternoon.

The salesman looked at the ring, asked me to try to put it on, and then confirmed that it was too small. He pulled it off my finger, looked at it, and told me that it would be impossible to resize it without cutting it and destroying the beautiful pattern engraved on its surface. And even then he wasn’t confident it could be done. He suggested that instead of trying the impossible, we exchange the ring for a credit towards a new band.

Barb and I browsed through the store’s jewelry showcases but were unimpressed with the fairly skimpy array of men’s wedding rings. Some were gaudy, some were too plain, none were inspirational. We told the salesman we would think about it, and left the store, walking through the soaked parking lot back to my car. We agreed that we were not going to give up on my ring that easily!

So we turned to our good friend and second generation jeweler Danny Lustig at Lustig Jewelers in Vernon Hills. We’ve known Danny for 35 years, and have shared many happy times, not to mention chicken pox, with his family. And for all that time, Danny has been telling us about Roman, his incredibly talented jewelry designer. We realized that Roman was the man to try to save my ring.

Another Saturday and another trip to a jeweler. Danny and his staff were as friendly as ever, and when I explained the situation, he immediately called Roman out of the workroom to take a look. Roman did some measurements, passed out some trivia (did you know that in men, ring size and shoe size are usually the same?) and studied the intricacies of the bimetallic ring. “Yes,” he said. “I can do this.”

I left the ring and waited for the callback. A week later I was back in the shop and picked up my ring. It was shiny and perfect, with all its ornate carving intact. I won’t reveal how Roman worked his magic, but after a few weeks of varying weather, I can say my ring fits me as well today as it did the day it was made.

And I’m set for many more years with my wedding ring and wife! Thanks Danny and Roman.

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special report from the editors of LadyLove Magazine

Your man stands at the bathroom mirror, razor in his hand, considering his face. He begins a ritual that goes back to his teens, a ritual that men have embraced for tens of thousands of years. How to get rid of that grizzly morning fuzz, and transform those cheeks into something smooth and wonderful for you, a bright shiny face for the world. It is time for a shave.

And there is so much you can learn about your relationship by standing by him every morning watching the steps he takes. Your whole relationship can be revealed IF you only know what to look for. Based on the latest in scientific psychologic research we present insight into what every man or woman can learn about their partner by just watching him shave. Which man do YOU have?

Lathering Up.

There are many ways he can put shaving cream on his face. Does he use an old-fashioned brush, the type with boar’s head bristles and a hand-carved handle, perhaps passed down from his beloved dad? He’s that type of guy, chivalrous and medieval in all things. He will hold the car door open for you, hang up your coat, earn the daily bread. But don’t ask him to watch the baby. That my dear is YOUR job.

On the other hand, if he pops out a can of aerosol shaving foam, squirts out a generous dollop and slaps it willy-nilly on his face, he is a man on the move. Do things quickly, get ’em done and move on is his philosophy. No time to linger. That can also relate to the way he handles things in your, um, personal life. Think you can get him to slow down? Think again.

Or is he a shave gel guy? This bro likes slowly massaging the opulent gel across his cheeks until it forms a luxurious froth all across his face. Slow and steady will be his way with you. A keeper.

The Shave

Watch how your man takes those first strokes. Does he start above his lip and then move directly down to his chin, a narrow swath that never varies? Studies show this type of man is straight-laced and rigid. He won’t easily make changes for you. Everything is right up the middle, following the rule book. A word of warning: DO NOT interrupt him when he has that blade in his hand!

Or does he start shaving by trimming his left sideburn? Most researchers agree this man is kind-hearted, the kind who will give you flowers AND chocolate on your first Valentine’s Day. But if he starts on the right side, look out! Men with this shaving pattern have an overly close relationship with their mother. Anthony Perkins definitely shaved this way in Psycho, and we all know how that ended up for Janet Leigh. Don’t plan on taking any long showers when THIS man shares your powder room.

The Aftershave

Does he choose a subtle yet manly scent? That’s for you. Does he spritz on oodles of Axe? That is NOT for you! This guy is going to be out on the town, looking for trouble. Do NOT sign any long-term leases.

The Stubble Guy

You already know, don’t you? This dude is just too cool for school. He will never grow up. It’s a short step from a prickly face to unchanged underwear and unmatched socks. Do you really want to go there with him?

—

So tomorrow morning, wake up with your guy. Every shave is a mirror into his soul. And you need to be the one looking in.

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photo credit: Philips Communications Philips Shaver series 9000 via photopin (license)

Passover. The holiday of escape from slavery and a march to freedom. From the voice of God in the Burning Bush to the roar of Moses to let his people go. It is a heroic story full of bravery and miracles. And like all Jewish festivals, it is celebrated with food. Lots and lots of food. No bread, but lots and lots of food.

We will be observing the second night, the second seder, at our house on Saturday evening. Twenty-some people, from age 7 months to ninety years. We will recite the story of the Exodus and then dig into the enormous meal that Barb is preparing. Preparing with my help…if you can call it that.

Barb was out for dinner last night when she received a text from me. “Holy sh–, I burned the carrots!” You see, Barb had left me with two simple tasks for the evening. First, hard boil an egg, and second, cover two pounds of peeled carrots with water and then boil them for two hours. She needed them softened for the pesadich carrot souffle she was planning on making. Neither job would require monumental intelligence or training at the Chicago Culinary Institute.

The egg came out just fine. But somewhere as the evening wore on I forgot to keep adding water to my simmering carrots. I noticed a smell about an hour-and-a-half into the boiling time. Something was burning, and unlike Kenny Rogers, I didn’t think it was love.

I put the TV on pause and ran from the den into the kitchen. There I uncovered a dry pot filled with very soft, but thoroughly charred, carrots. Unlike my previous cole slaw fiasco, these carrots were not retrievable. That is when I sent Barb my text. She called me and got the fiery details. And she laughed. And laughed some more. What else could she do? The smoke alarm and fire suppression sprinklers hadn’t been set off and the house hadn’t burned down.  We were just out two pounds of carrots, two hours of time, and one char-encrusted soup pot.

Barb will buy more carrots and make a fantastic meal. She probably won’t ask for any more help from me. And to our guests, if you smell something in the air Saturday night, no we aren’t making S’mores for dessert (definitely not Kosher for Passover) and we haven’t planned a real-life recreation of the Burning Bush. We haven’t even invited either of Daenerys’ dragons to join us for seder. It’s just the lingering aroma of Les’s Carrot Char.

Bon Appétit!

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Driving down Half Day Road in Lincolnshire last spring. One friend in the passenger seat next to me, another in the back row. We’re chatting about baseball, and house closings, and prostate biopsies. I’m in the right lane, anticipating the ramp to the Tri-State a mile ahead.

There is an Illinois State Patrol car on the shoulder, immobile, no activity around it. I check my speedometer to make sure I am not too much above the speed limit, but other than that I don’t give the trooper much thought as I glide past the cruiser.  And that is where I am making my mistake.

A lightbar begins flashing its red and blue lights behind me. A siren sounds and a glance in the rearview mirror confirms the police are on my tail. I quickly pull over, put the car into park and confused as to what my wrongdoing has been, await the approach of the state patrol officer.

Trooper: License and insurance, please. And what model year is this car.
Me: Here they are sir. It’s a 2017. (I still don’t know the reason or importance of that question.)
Trooper: Is this still your address? Had any traffic citations in the last 5 years?
Me: Yes I live there, and no, no traffic issues.
Trooper: Do you know why I stopped you?
Me: No sir. I really didn’t think I did anything wrong.
Trooper: I’ll let you know in a minute.

He walks to his patrol car to verify my driver’s license and car plates. One of my friends, an attorney, thinks he knows what this is about. He tells me I could be in for a big fine, but before he can give me more details the officer returns.

Trooper: Did you seem me on the shoulder?
Me: Yes, sir.
Trooper: And what did you do?
Me: Um, nothing, sir.
Trooper: There’s a law in Illinois. Scott’s Law. You see an officer on the side of the road, you do three things. You assess for any hazards. You slow down. You move to the left lane if you can. You didn’t do any of those. That’s a $10,000 fine.
Me: I really didn’t know…

He lets me off with a warning, a stern one. Maybe he is influenced by the mild spring day, by my past good driving record, by my lack of aggressiveness. Maybe he just wanted to make a point. His lesson is well taught and well learned.

But two Illinois troopers have been killed this year when they have been struck by vehicles while conducting traffic stops. More than a dozen others have been injured in similar incidents since January. By people who didn’t know or didn’t follow Scott’s Law. That is two deaths and more than a dozen other incidents too many.

I usually write about prostate cancer and PSA testing when I want to save lives. Scott’s Law is another way to keep people safe. I had to go through a traffic stop to learn it; I hope the rest of you can learn the lesson by just reading about it. No more officers need to die.

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The start of a new month is rolling around. April Fools Day for some, for me it is time to compile and review the lab statistics for the previous month. How many cases did we see, how many biopsies were benign, how many biopsies were malignant, and how many times were we just not sure. There is turn-around-time data to analyze and comparison studies to dissect. So do I jump right in, or put it off for another day? Am I a doer or a delayer?

The New York Times ran two short features in the last week. “Precrastinators” jump out in front, doing assignments before they are due, checking things off their to-do list, well before they need to be to-done. Surprisingly, the process is not always beneficial. Ignoring a late data point can lead to drawing the wrong conclusion. And psychologically, precrastination is “a perversion of diligence,” that “stems from the concern that you won’t have enough time to do something well.” Sheesh. I never knew the psyche could be so deep.

On the other hand, “Procrastinators,” according to the other Times article, don’t make much sense, either, as they “know (their procrastination) is going to have negative consequences.” A researcher calls it “an emotion regulation problem.”

So pre or pro, either way, we are a little bit crazy at best or perverted at worst. But why be binary?  I like to think of myself as “crastination-fluid.” Which way I lean depends on the task.

If I am planning to get somewhere I am very much a precrastinator. I want to be on time, and being on time means being ten minutes early. Does that have negative consequences? Besides being aggravating to my co-travelers, it also means leaving something else ten minutes early. Who know’s what I’m missing?

In school I was always one step ahead, warning fellow students and unobservant graduate assistants about errors in text books and poorly designed review questions. The biggest precrastination drawback on that one? Let us count the different ways one can be labeled a nerd.

When does my “fluidity ” show up as procrastination? When do I put things off? Whether it is rotary dial or touch tone, landline or mobile, I delay making telephone calls. I put off reaching out to make that contact, for minutes, hours, and sometimes days. It is inexplicable and doesn’t extend to emails, snail mail, texts, or other means of communication. Somewhere in my youth or childhood, AT&T must have terrorized me. Maybe it was the light-up dial on our Princess phone. In any case, please call me, I might not call you.

Blog writing is peculiar. I can procrastinate for days (this post was first conceptualized three days ago,) but on the other hand I can see a headline or a trashy article in the paper and know that I have to write something that minute. A result? Some weeks with four posts, some with none. So much for the rule that the best way to build an audience is to be consistent.

About all those end of month statistics. The ones I am most interested in will get done in a snap. Some others may take a while longer to be computed. And I will feel OK either way. Sometimes it helps to be fluid.

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The above is the opinion of the author and not UroPartners LLC.
photo credit: wuestenigel Toy model of traffic light with the image of the road in the background via photopin (license)