Clearly, bling ain’t my thing

A few months ago, I began to have a little trouble with my ring finger. Fortunately, I don’t use that finger a lot, so it wasn’t too much of a hindrance to my daily activities.

It’s not like it’s a thumb, which is an extremely important digit because it allows me to decline calls on my phone, play “Donkey Kong” on my Atari 2600 and rate movies I see. Most of the time, my thumb points downward. I’m picky.

The index finger also is important because it allows me to point at crazy people, which means my index finger is a little tired with the amount of craziness in America right now. It also allows me to judge wind direction on the golf course as I lick it and hold it in the air to feel which side the wind is coming from.

“Um, can’t you just look at the leaves or something,” my partner will say. “That’s kinda gross.”

“Amateur!” I’ll say. “That knowledge is why my ball just landed in the middle of the fairway, thank you!”

“The 15th fairway! We’re on the 14th!”

“Only amateurs like you get bogged down in such petty details.”

And don’t even get me started on the middle finger. How else can you convey such thoughts while driving as, “What does the word ‘yield’ mean on your planet, buddy?!”

But the ring finger, it’s more for decoration. Still, when it hurts, it hurts. And mine was hurting because my metal wedding band — silver or platinum or aluminum or nickel or one of those metal thingies — wasn’t advanced enough to keep up with my fattening fingers. My ring finger was being strangled. For a while, there was no hope of removing it, so I just drew a little face on my ring finger with a couple of eyes and a wide-open mouth as if it were gasping for air.

Fortunately, with a little help from ice, grease and a jackhammer, I was finally able to pry off that strangling piece of metal — perhaps it was lead or maybe tin. My wife allowed me to replace it with a silicone ring that can move, stretch and breathe. In fact, I got a whole pack with different color rings. The point, after all, is simply to make sure that throngs of single ladies know I’m unavailable. (That howling wind you all just heard was actually collective sighs of disappointment from single ladies everywhere.)

And the silicone rings are just fine with me. I don’t like gold, silver, rubies or diamonds or any of that junk. Some folks see treasures. I see metal and rocks. I realize few share my sentiments, and I imagine that includes rapper Lil Uzi Vert.

Lil Uzi Vert

In case you’re not all hip to the goings-on in the rap world like I am, you might not even know who that is. OK, I didn’t, either. But he made the news this week when it was revealed Lil Uzi Vert had a pink diamond embedded in his forehead — a $24 million diamond.

I don’t think I’d ever flaunt it if I did have that kind of money. And if I were going to decorate my forehead, I’d probably do it with something less expensive like a thumb tack. Besides, if I had a $24 million head, I’d have to wear iron turtlenecks the rest of my life.

There certainly must be better ways to spend money. Of course, studies have shown that the top 20 percent of American income earners are the least charitable percentage-wise (the bottom 20 percent being the most charitable).

At least we have Lil Uzi Vert’s forehead to remind us where some people’s priorities are in this country.

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