Jack says, “You should wear it on your left hand, on your penultimate finger.”
“Are you sure?” I ask him. “Because there are girls at work who wear it on their right, who don’t wear one altogether.”
Jack Googles it, reads me lists, histories on it, from Wikipedia first, and then home-made sites by people as misinformed as I am. When we made the decision Jack promised we’d check out every tradition, so we’d know which ones were right, and which were antiquated, like only virgins wearing white or veils being equivalent to hymens.
Jack says, “There’s something in structure, apparently, in which fingers bend and don’t, and you wear your wedding ring there, on that finger, because it’s the hardest to move independently, so according to Sally, or whoever wrote the text on this site really, it means that you’re bound to your husband, subjugated to him.”
We have a week of rom-coms, wedding themed ones, or ones with weddings in them, trying to align ourselves with the ideas, with the idea of completing something old and not going backwards. But every woman wears her rings on the same finger in the Western hemisphere, in England, America. So now we’re looking for lists of European films, ones which can convince us it’s okay to choose other fingers, that it’s alright to break with tradition even at the expense of other people’s feelings or because of them.
But Reese’s finger in that film couldn’t hold a bigger rock better and she’s far from under somebody’s thumb, she’s far from trodden on. But I don’t know if that’s our answer.