I try not to diarize too much when I blog, that is, I try not to talk too much about my personal life. This is mostly because I doubt anyone really cares. (Not that anyone *really* cares about what I think either, but since you keep reading, I assume I’m doing something right, at least marginally). It also might be because I’m scared that a stalker will get the right combination of information to find me and dispose of my body. (Just like when people on Facebook use their last initial instead of writing out their full surname).
I made this preamble because I’m about to tell you how my fiancee proposed. A few have asked for the story, so I will deliver.
Sunday, January 4, 2009. 11:30 pm.
Jen is at home, in bed, lights out. Waiting for Neocitron to kick in. Enter boyfriend, also ready to hit the so-called hay.
Jen begins complaining, mostly about boyfriend to boyfriend. Boyfriend deflects negativity like teflon. Jen is silently thankful that boyfriend puts up with her yapping and doubts anyone else would.
Boyfriend (soon-to-be-fiancee at this point) tells Jen he can make her feel better. He asks her to make him happy and marry him. Initially, Jen does not know he is serious. She pauses and then asks if he’s joking. When she clues in, she asks him to repeat the question. He asks her to marry him and feels around (in the dark) for Jen’s finger. Predictably, she says yes. The ring goes on. Jen coughs a happy cough.
Fiancees spend the next 10-15 minutes trying to get the ring off, using various lubricants. Turns out, the ring is too small and much easier to get on than off. Ring gets resized. Jennie is a sick, yet happy camper.
There you have it. My engagement story.