I love wearing rings on my short little fingers.  When I was in high school and college, I would wear five, six, seven ring.  They would all be silver.  Some would have designs imprinted on the metal, while what others lacked was made up for in sentimental value.  Now, there are two rings that stick out among the rest.  Cheesy, I know, but they're my engagement ring and wedding band.  Even if I'm pissed at him, even if I want to punch him in the face, I can still look down at those rings and remember what "we" really mean together.  With those two rings, I remember the day in New York City when he proposed to me in Central Park after I stomped out a cigarette butt.  And I remember our wedding day:  sun, friends, booze, dancing, motown music, happiness, and walking down the aisle to Bob Marley.

Those were the two best days of my life.

And that's enough to bring you up when you're down, no matter who's causing the irritation.