Damo, 8 Schooners, 2 Tequilas and the Wedding Rings That Went Walkabout  

Recounted by Rusty Rings, Wedding Crash Correspondent

It’s was a late February arvo on the Gold Coast. The sort of day where the sun’s that kind of smug-hot, your thighs stick to plastic chairs and the air smells faintly of coconut sunscreen, beer and dashed hopes. A perfect setting, really, for a wedding.

Jess and Aaron (lovely couple, very in love, possibly already in debt) were tying the knot. Or at least trying to.

Now, I don’t normally get sentimental about these things. I’ve been to more weddings than a celebrant with a speed addiction. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: something always goes wrong.

Sometimes it’s a dodgy prawn canapé. Sometimes Nan drops the C-bomb during speeches. And sometimes, just sometimes, your best mate Damo disappears half an hour before the ceremony, taking with him two rings worth more than a decent second-hand ute.

Enter Damo

Now Damo (full name Damien, but no one’s called him that since he threw up in a police car in ’07) had one job. One. Hold onto the rings.
Not write a speech. Not look after the flower girl. Not keep Uncle Greg from face-planting into the dessert table. Just the rings.

And yet, at precisely 2:42pm, with guests fanning themselves and the celebrant sweating through his collar, Damo was nowhere to be found.

Calls to his mobile went straight to voicemail. His last known whereabouts: the hotel bar. Obviously. Witnesses reported sightings of him holding court with a group of tourists from Brisbane and a bloke called Snakebite Pete.

The rings? Also MIA.

The Great Ring Crisis

Now, weddings are like dominoes. Knock one over and the rest tumble quicker than a half-cut uncle on the dance floor.

Panic set in. Jess started hyperventilating. Aaron turned a shade of grey usually reserved for storm clouds and dead fish. The mother-in-law muttered something like “I always knew that Damo was trouble”. And someone (probably a cousin) sprinted down the road to a petrol station to buy emergency rings out of one of those plastic bubble vending machines.

You haven’t seen true romance until you’ve watched a man slip a glow-in-the-dark Spider-Man ring onto his bride’s finger while the celebrant pretends not to notice. It was beautiful.

Meanwhile, Back at the Bar…

Damo, it turns out, had decided to “calm his nerves” with what he later described as “just a couple of quick ones” but what security footage confirmed was eight schooners, two tequila shots and something green that made his left eye twitch.

He’d then, in a moment of peak Damo logic, headed to the beach for a swim. Rings still in pocket. Wallet, phone, dignity — all left behind.

When he eventually returned, an hour into the reception, sunburnt and sandy, the rings were gone. Somewhere in the Pacific. Or possibly pawned to Snakebite Pete. No one actually knows for sure.

What It Cost

Now, here’s the bit most people don’t think about. Those rings? $2,800 worth of white gold and diamond sparkle. No insurance.
Yep. They’d meant to get around to it. It was “on the list.” That same list where you remember to book a back-up hair and makeup artist or make sure Uncle Greg’s seat isn’t next to the open bar.

And let me tell you — wedding insurance covers a lot more than people realise.
Lost or stolen rings? Yep.
Supplier no-shows? Covered.
Accidental damage to hired equipment when Uncle Greg breaks the fairy light installation with his interpretive dance? Sorted.
Even pays for rescheduling the whole shebang if a cyclone turns up or Nan carks it at an inconvenient moment.

But without it? You’re just a poor bloke with a plastic Spider-Man ring and a sunburned best mate. Bad times.

Moral of the Story

So here’s the takeaway from old Rusty Rings: your wedding might be the happiest day of your life, but it’s also a ticking time bomb of expensive mishaps waiting to happen.

You insure your car, your house, your pet budgie Kevin. Why wouldn’t you insure the one event where 80+ people gather together, half-cut, emotional, and handling delicate, costly things while attempting the Nutbush?

Look — I’m not saying you have to wrap your entire wedding party in bubble wrap (although I’ve seen it done, shout-out to Tamworth 2016). But for the love of cold beer and common sense, sort yourself out with proper cover.

And if your best mate’s a Damo? Maybe give him the cufflinks to hold instead.