Is it that you were trying to test if a small pipe would fit into an opening that happened to be the exact diameter as the inside of your wedding ring, so, you took it off to try it before you glued it in place and then, once you did, you noticed a coral had fallen in your tank and you stuck your hand in to fix it and were immediately stung by 42 angry bristleworms causing your finger to swell, at which point you tried to put the ring back on (which, incidentally, helps you come up with crazy acro names since it is made of lead instead of silver since you bought it from a shady pawn shop), but because your finger was swollen and the ring has a high coefficient of thermal expansion, it was impossible to put the ring back on your finger, thus forcing you to lay it on top of the skimmer lid while you looked for Benadryl, at which point your wife walked into the tank room, saw the wedding band sans-hubby, and finally decided to tell you that your aquateering had driven her into the arms of Pablo Rocha, the sassy, Puerto Rican, pill-popping, peg-legged paraplegic who lives in the beige, two-story bungalow at the end of the cul-de-sac, thus leaving you companionless in your reefing endeavors unless you make an immediate peace treaty with the copepods!!!!?