The time it took many hands to get my wedding band... well, off my hand.

Per usual, I have another story for the books.

Because, you know, with me, there’s always a story.

My new job requires all fingers to be ring-free. And yeah, silicone rings included.

Mind you, I’ve had my wedding ring on for the last twenty-some-odd years. Well, it’s actually a replacement ring. The first one got lost in the snow in a Walmart parking lot, but that’s a whole other story.

This replacement ring has been on my finger for at least sixteen years. There’s been no real reason to take it off, so it stayed.

Until now.

And try as I might, the dang thing wouldn’t budge.

I tried all the tricks.

Soaped it.

Soaked it.

Iced it.

Tried the string-wrap trick.

Nothing.

So, I did the next best thing.

Not wanting the expense of an ER visit—or whatever adventure awaited me at a jewelry store—I went to the neighborhood fire department.

And that’s where the fun began.

When I arrived, there were three firefighters at the station who were absolutely willing to help. I think I disturbed one of them from a nap, while the other two had been watching TV.

So, obviously, a good time to pester them with my request.

They patiently went through the entire battery of options with me again. I figured surely one of their methods would work.

Alas, nope.

One of the firefighters went into the garage to get the ring cutter.

They couldn’t find it.

So, they told me they’d call in another unit that certainly had a kit.

Mind you, all three of them were now standing around me, shaking their heads.

“It’s a shame we have to cut it. It’s a nice ring.”

Within minutes, another squad pulled in.

A ladder truck.

From another department.

With another three-person crew.

And just like that, the number of people involved in removing one wedding ring from one finger had doubled.

The new crew knocked at the back door and announced themselves:

“Fire Department!”

Which, of course, gave all of us a good laugh.

But a whole ladder truck?

And another three people?!

Well, okay, I suppose.

And now, ladies—and guys—who have fantasized about multiple firefighters arriving for your rescue?

Yeah.

I get it.

I fully understand.

And yes, they were all rather good-looking and built. One was a woman, and she was gorgeous in her own right.

It reminded me of a living scene from that TV show starring Rob Lowe as the fire chief.

Yeah.

That one.

Of course, as soon as the second team arrived with the ring-cutting equipment, the home squad located their kit.

A comedy of errors, for sure.

But the second team had the upper hand now, and out came the Dremel tool.

It fired up with a whine that sounded remarkably like a dental drill.

Not cool.

But it certainly did the trick.

They slid protective metal sheets under both sides of the ring and went to town. One firefighter worked the Dremel while another poured water over the spinning blade.

A few minutes later, the ring snapped.

A couple of twists with a pair of pliers, and my finger was finally free.

Then came the slightly awkward part.

I made the rounds, shaking everyone’s hands and offering my gratitude to the six people—and one ladder truck—required to rescue me from my own wedding band.

As I left, I told them:

“I’m sure this is one for the books.”

Which reminds me.

I really need to write the station a thank-you note.

The next mission is to find a reputable jeweler who can size the ring up and put it back together.

Or maybe it’s time for wedding band number three.

Then again, I’m not quite ready for that particular ring of fire just yet.