I Lost My Favorite Rings. It’s Jimmy Buffett’s Fault.

I went to a Jimmy Buffett concert last night.

The Boyfriend’s blurry picture from our not-quite-nosebleed seats.

It was at Jones Beach, which has a really cool concert venue that’s right on the water. Which is, you know, a fitting location for Jimmy Buffett.

Here’s the thing. I don’t really know any Jimmy Buffett songs. I mean, sure, I know the chorus to “Margaritaville.” I can hum along to the Alan Jackson and Kenny Chesney songs he’s guested in. But other than that?

I am Jon Snow. (Meaning I know nothing.)

So anyway. Here I am with The Boyfriend and a couple friends, being a really good sport going to a Jimmy Buffett concert. And you know what—it was actually fun. He’s a good entertainer and it was a gorgeous night and the only thing that would’ve made it better is if you could drink in the venue. But you can’t. Which is stupid.

Since you can’t drink, everyone tailgates in the parking lot before the concert. People take this VERY seriously. Like, they take off work and show up at noon to tailgate. As if Jimmy Buffett were a college football game. It’s bizarre, but, sure okay. Tailgating! (Apparently this is a Jimmy Buffett fan thing and Jimmy Buffett sells Margaritaville Tailgating Grills. Seriously.)

But we didn’t tailgate. We took the train out to Long Island and had tacos and margs at a friend’s house. Then we brought road beers for the walk from the parking lot to the venue.

As you do.

But as we’re getting tot he venue, we see a cop car with the light flashing, so we chug down (well, they chug. I can’t do that, it gags me, so I gulped.) our beers and then toss the rest on the ground.

As soon as we do that, the cop car drives away.

Boooooo.

When we finally get the venue, the concert has already started, but since I have the smallest bladder in the history of the world, I have to pee. The Boyfriend is being impatient about this, so I am hurrying while peeing.

I finish up, wash my hands, dry them with a paper towel, and as I’m throwing my paper towel away, realize I’ve lost my chevron stackable rings.

They looked like this.

I love these rings.

They have no sentimental value, they weren’t expensive, but I love them. Problem was, they were a little too big for my index finger and looked stupid on my thumb, so I just wore them on my index finger anyway and they would constantly fall off.

And now they are lost forever somewhere near or in the Nikon Theater at Jones Beach.

Woe is me.