Anniversary
Three years ago today I married Himself, on a gorgeous sunny farm in Illinois, surrounded by friends and family.
And, as it is our third anniversary, it seems like a good time to tell the story of the three proposals that led up to that wedding.
Yes, three.
You see, we are the most unromantic couple ever.
We had been dating for two months, maybe more, when he asked me to marry him. He doesn't remember this, but I do; I was on my cell phone, outside my office in early spring, and he asked me, and I said yes. It was the kind of "declaration of intent" question that both of us knew wasn't a real proposal, and we talked at the time about how it wasn't a real proposal, but I count it.
That was proposal number one. Over a cell phone, on a coffee break.
Once I make up my mind about something, I pursue it. About eight months later, I decided to design our wedding rings. I figured that if I had to wear a piece of jewelry every day for the rest of my life, I wanted to be the one to pick it out. So I did. I designed and ordered some nice flat titanium bands, inexpensive enough to be replaceable when I inevitably lost one and durable enough not to lose stones or scratch up much during everyday wear. They were light, plain, and practical. I stuck them in my office drawer until I was ready to propose.
Except I'd been talking about ring design with another friend who was getting married, so when we went on vacation to Illinois, I brought them along to show to her. And you know how things can burn a hole in your pocket? The rings were doing that. I kept wanting to jump the gun, and it got harder and harder to keep my mouth shut. And one night I just asked, out of the blue. I cannot imagine having worse timing; I mean, I don't even know what I was thinking. There were other people in the room, watching a movie or playing video games or something, and he and I were sitting at the table, having just had a little pseudo-fight, and I blurted out, "Will you marry me?"
I am so smooth.
"You're kidding, right?" he said, which was my cue to say "Ha ha, yes, of course!"
Instead I admitted, "I've got the rings in my bag."
That was proposal number two. You can imagine how well that went over.
I put the rings in a drawer in the living room and told him where they were. "Your turn, next time," I said. Sure, I mean, my proposal had sucked beyond belief, but at least I'd had the cojones to do it, right? I wasn't going to do it twice in a row. A girl's got her pride.
The rings sat there for another year or so. Neither of us worried much about it, I don't think. I continued to be a giant dork, reading research on marriage as an institution and case studies of successful marriages as background and doing flowers for the constant parade of my friends who were getting hitched. I figured he'd get around to it in his own time; we both had other things to worry about.
I do, however, have control issues. I don't really like life to surprise me so much. So when he headed out for a fly fishing trip the next autumn in Eastern California, where I planned to join him a few days later, I had a funny feeling, and I checked the drawer. Sure enough, the box with my rings in was gone. "Cool," I thought. I would know what to expect.
But then he didn't ask.
Candlelit dinner at a fancy restaurant, no question. Quiet twilight evening floating on a lake, no question. Sunny dusty explorations of old mining towns, warm hikes along lakesides and rivers with the dog, evenings curled up at the cabin our friend had lent us - no question. Whatever, I figured. He lost his nerve, he wasn't ready, not a big deal.
And then on the way back we stopped somewhere in Yosemite National Park to check out a random creek for possible fly fishing. It was too dry (fly fishing bores me, so I was relieved) but while he scoped it out, I took the dog out for a piss and shivered at the fall chill in the air. We ambled back to him and he and I had a desultory conversation about nothing, standing there in the patch of weak sunlight by the car. There was a brief silence as we both eyed the dry boulders of the creek bed, and then he fished the ring out of his pocket and held it up.
He cocked an eyebrow at me questioningly. "Eh?" he said.
I looked at the ring, to make sure it really was what I thought, and back up at his face. "Really?" I said.
He shrugged and kept holding the ring up. "Eh."
"You sure?"
"Uh huh." He offered me the ring.
"Okay," I said, and I held out my hand so he could slide it onto my finger.
"Okay," he said, and gave me a hug.
That was the third proposal - a ring I'd bought myself and three vague noises.
It was pretty much perfect.
I would have been freaked out by diamonds or flowery words or him going down on bended knee. We are pragmatic cynics, for the main, and when we fell madly in love almost at first sight, both of us were horribly discomfited by it. A grand romantic gesture would have been so unlike us as to be ludicrous; we don't even celebrate Valentine's Day, for chrissake. Older women give me pitying looks when I tell this story (when they are not giving me horrified looks about the part where I proposed first), but this is us. This is, as they say, how we roll. And I would have it no other way.
Happy anniversary to us.
And, as it is our third anniversary, it seems like a good time to tell the story of the three proposals that led up to that wedding.
Yes, three.
You see, we are the most unromantic couple ever.
We had been dating for two months, maybe more, when he asked me to marry him. He doesn't remember this, but I do; I was on my cell phone, outside my office in early spring, and he asked me, and I said yes. It was the kind of "declaration of intent" question that both of us knew wasn't a real proposal, and we talked at the time about how it wasn't a real proposal, but I count it.
That was proposal number one. Over a cell phone, on a coffee break.
Once I make up my mind about something, I pursue it. About eight months later, I decided to design our wedding rings. I figured that if I had to wear a piece of jewelry every day for the rest of my life, I wanted to be the one to pick it out. So I did. I designed and ordered some nice flat titanium bands, inexpensive enough to be replaceable when I inevitably lost one and durable enough not to lose stones or scratch up much during everyday wear. They were light, plain, and practical. I stuck them in my office drawer until I was ready to propose.
Except I'd been talking about ring design with another friend who was getting married, so when we went on vacation to Illinois, I brought them along to show to her. And you know how things can burn a hole in your pocket? The rings were doing that. I kept wanting to jump the gun, and it got harder and harder to keep my mouth shut. And one night I just asked, out of the blue. I cannot imagine having worse timing; I mean, I don't even know what I was thinking. There were other people in the room, watching a movie or playing video games or something, and he and I were sitting at the table, having just had a little pseudo-fight, and I blurted out, "Will you marry me?"
I am so smooth.
"You're kidding, right?" he said, which was my cue to say "Ha ha, yes, of course!"
Instead I admitted, "I've got the rings in my bag."
That was proposal number two. You can imagine how well that went over.
I put the rings in a drawer in the living room and told him where they were. "Your turn, next time," I said. Sure, I mean, my proposal had sucked beyond belief, but at least I'd had the cojones to do it, right? I wasn't going to do it twice in a row. A girl's got her pride.
The rings sat there for another year or so. Neither of us worried much about it, I don't think. I continued to be a giant dork, reading research on marriage as an institution and case studies of successful marriages as background and doing flowers for the constant parade of my friends who were getting hitched. I figured he'd get around to it in his own time; we both had other things to worry about.
I do, however, have control issues. I don't really like life to surprise me so much. So when he headed out for a fly fishing trip the next autumn in Eastern California, where I planned to join him a few days later, I had a funny feeling, and I checked the drawer. Sure enough, the box with my rings in was gone. "Cool," I thought. I would know what to expect.
But then he didn't ask.
Candlelit dinner at a fancy restaurant, no question. Quiet twilight evening floating on a lake, no question. Sunny dusty explorations of old mining towns, warm hikes along lakesides and rivers with the dog, evenings curled up at the cabin our friend had lent us - no question. Whatever, I figured. He lost his nerve, he wasn't ready, not a big deal.
And then on the way back we stopped somewhere in Yosemite National Park to check out a random creek for possible fly fishing. It was too dry (fly fishing bores me, so I was relieved) but while he scoped it out, I took the dog out for a piss and shivered at the fall chill in the air. We ambled back to him and he and I had a desultory conversation about nothing, standing there in the patch of weak sunlight by the car. There was a brief silence as we both eyed the dry boulders of the creek bed, and then he fished the ring out of his pocket and held it up.
He cocked an eyebrow at me questioningly. "Eh?" he said.
I looked at the ring, to make sure it really was what I thought, and back up at his face. "Really?" I said.
He shrugged and kept holding the ring up. "Eh."
"You sure?"
"Uh huh." He offered me the ring.
"Okay," I said, and I held out my hand so he could slide it onto my finger.
"Okay," he said, and gave me a hug.
That was the third proposal - a ring I'd bought myself and three vague noises.
It was pretty much perfect.
I would have been freaked out by diamonds or flowery words or him going down on bended knee. We are pragmatic cynics, for the main, and when we fell madly in love almost at first sight, both of us were horribly discomfited by it. A grand romantic gesture would have been so unlike us as to be ludicrous; we don't even celebrate Valentine's Day, for chrissake. Older women give me pitying looks when I tell this story (when they are not giving me horrified looks about the part where I proposed first), but this is us. This is, as they say, how we roll. And I would have it no other way.
Happy anniversary to us.
posted by The Stute Fish at 06:54
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