An Indecent Proposal

I'm not the kind of girl who used to daydream about her engagement or wedding or what have you. Did I wonder about my future husband? Sure. But the details never interested me much. Happiness, love, family, those are things that captured my imagination, which based on how this engagement came about, is probably for the best.

Skywriting? Too obvious.

We all hear of those really crazy, out-there proposals. Airplanes writing "Marry Me" in smoke, men getting down on one knee during large sporting events, or pulling out a ring on national television. The sorts of public-forum proposals that make me cringe. Then there are those... uh... even more special sort of proposals. I actually have a friend who proposed to his future (ex) wife over a tin of Altoids, proclaiming that they were "mint" for each other, and he was prepared to make a "commit-mint" to her. I have another acquaintance who was proposed to over breakfast. No, literally over breakfast. When the waiter brought her the scrambled eggs, the ring was there along with "will you marry me?" written in ketchup. Thankfully we did not have one of those engagements.

Candy? Too saccharine. 

No, it's pretty hard to surprise a woman who has designed her own ring and knows when it's ready. Austin very wisely asked me for a deadline, and I gave him until Valentines Day to pop the question. He agreed. I assumed he'd do it on the 14th since, well, it is The Most-Romantic Day. So on Thursday (2/10), when he asked me if he could make dinner for us, I was so completely shocked that he wanted to cook that I didn't even consider he might be planning to pop the question. That is until after he asked me about the contents of our larder (soy sauce? yes. mozzarella? no.), at which point he told me he was taking the dog for a walk, going grocery shopping, then giving me the ring. Oh.

The rest of the night pretty much went just like that. He poured us some nice beer (which, for Austin, is romantic) and then presented me with a small bag with the name of the jeweler on it. Years worth of romantic movie scenes ran through my head. Would he get down on one knee? Is this the moment that he finally asks me to be his wife? Would he tell me how much I mean to him? How he wants to spend every night falling asleep with me and waking up next to me? How he wants me to be the mother of his children and grow old with him?

Nope.

"Well, here it is. They asked me if I wanted it gift wrapped so I said OK." I took the bag from his hand and pulled out the tiny, nicely-wrapped box. I started pulling up the corners of the paper when Austin interjected. "You don't have to worry about ripping the paper or anything. It's not like we're going to reuse it." Sigh. My images of a romantic, heart-felt proposal were pretty much dashed at this point, so I looked at him and asked, "That's it?" "Oh yeah, uh, will you marry me?" I honestly don't remember whether I responded. Instead I opted to open the black-velvet box and look at the ring. It was beautiful.

Click to enlarge and gaze upon the shiny!

After I made him put it on my finger ("well I've never proposed to anyone before!"), we made the calls, wrote the emails, and made it facebook official. Even though the giving of the ring was less-than-ideal, I'm not too bothered. In the end the deed was done, and we are officially engaged. (To his credit, Austin insists that I'm the one that proposed waaaay back in October, and I can't say I entirely disagree.)

I imagine that years from now, grandchildren sitting on my lap, I will be asked, "Grandma, how did grandpa propose?" At that point, I will look lovingly on my ring and answer, "I don't remember."