It’s not the sort of thing your father wanted to admit when teaching you about the birds and the bees, but size does matter in the bedroom.

Or wherever your wife keeps her jewelry.

For years I promised my wife I’d buy her a new wedding ring with a large diamond. She suggested one the size of my ego. Okay, she was just kidding, right? Because she’s always insisted she was perfectly happy with the ring she had, a simple gold band with a pear-shaped diamond and accompanying magnifying glass.

Once, to show my appreciation, I gave her a huge hug and told her I loved her. Apparently, this means, “Okay, I’ll get you the ring,” and is legally binding in the lower 48 states.

Going back on such a promise was something I never once considered, even when, like now, I was torn between buying her the ring and or a practical gift, like a gas-fired monster grill.

Then I read a story in The New York Times.

When you own expensive jewelry you have to insure it separately. If your house is robbed you can’t just lump jewelry in with everything else, like your big-screen television, Vitamix blender or that monster grill.

Insuring expensive jewelry is akin to mortgaging your home (which, by the way, you also have to insure separately). But instead of sharing ownership with Bank of America, you share it with State Farm or Allstate. And, as any insurance agent will tell you, your new partner is going to do everything it can to make sure you don’t do something that puts “our” jewelry in jeopardy.

This includes sending you little reminders about the need to keep “our” jewelry safe. These reminders take the form of a monthly bill that only looks big until you realize it is a small fraction of the insurance policy’s deductible.

That’s what you’ll have to pay if you do something foolish, where foolish, as defined in three pages of verbiage that’s as clear as Ikea directions, includes dropping your jewelry down the drain—or even worse—allowing some knife-wielding thug to steal it.

As I explained to my wife, slipping an expensive ring on her finger would be tantamount to spousal abuse, what with all the physical and emotional stress that would come with using the powder room or leaving the house unarmed.

She understood her safety was my primary concern, which is how I interpreted her remark that her mother was right about me.

Fortunately, in that same Times story I found out there is an affordable way to keep my wife safe. My insurance company is willing to allow an expensive ring to remain on her finger, if she’s willing to have her finger amputated and placed in a safe deposit box.

Otherwise, she can keep her finger, but the ring goes under lock and key, although she is allowed to wear it three times a year.

(For the record: Most insurance companies suggest you use a fiscal year as the data show it confounds your common street scum.)

According to my insurance agent, details for the other 362 days vary, but most policies allow unlimited free visits. My wife can even bring two guests at no extra charge as long as she doesn’t serve snacks. And if she wants to put the ring on her finger, she has 60 seconds to enjoy some well-deserved oos and ahhs before putting it back.

(You should read any policy carefully, for which my wife will loan you the magnifying glass.)

“What’s the point of having an expensive ring if I can’t wear it?” my wife asked.

If you can’t imagine what I said next you’ll never own a gas-fired monster grill.