I told you all earlier about our "Origins" and how we got started as a couple, and I promised to tell you the proposal story. So…here goes…We are definitely a non-traditional duo in many ways. It started out like that and we’ve never seen any reason to change it. I still like mowing the lawn and he enjoys cooking. I'm the race-car driver, he's the commuter. And, I asked him out on our first date…well, specifically, I invited myself over to his place to have him cook something for me. Being a tad forward, and finally stumbling on the dude I had been waiting all my life for, I asked what he was cooking for me the following Friday night. Turns out it was Tequila Lime Chicken and some wine his friend had given him called Panty Dropper Red. Good choice!
His apartment was on the second floor with the stairs on the outside of the building. As visitors walked up the steps, they got a full view of the chef in the kitchen. That night he was wearing an apron and steaming the rice as I arrived. His smart-alec comment as I arrived and told him how wonderful everything smelled was that he’d make someone a great wife some day. He said he also expected a ring and for the suitor to get down on one knee and propose properly. Suffice it to say, I filed that away for later use. Poor guy! He didn’t know he’d been had! Yet.
After dating for a while, I decided that I wasn’t going to let this one get away, and though we had talked about marriage and figured we’d eventually get hitched, it remained kind of nebulous for a few months. So...I hatched a plan. The great thing about moving so much with the military is that you can discover all sorts of events in places you’d never think to unearth them. Like a Highland Games festival in Albuquerque of all places, for example. Of course, any event sponsored by Guinness was a shoo-in for us. Duh! Cheap, GOOD beer in the land of green chile? Yeah, we’re there! Guys running around in kilts and caber tosses (people, they throw telephone poles while wearing skirts with nary a bit of private part exposure…it’s pretty amazing! I still don’t know what they wear under those kilts, by the way.) were a bonus, as well. The Celtic music and dancing was fantastic, as were all the booths selling family crests, tartans, kilts, and jewelry.
The love-bug and I found some really cool gold rings with Celtic knots and animals on them. There was a particularly interesting one that caught his eye; it was a band with dragons wrapped around it, each one devouring the next. (Yeah, really romantic, I know! Right? Remember, non-traditional! He probably needed the masculinity of the dragons to combat the fact that he would be referred to as a “love-bug” in the future! :->) He said that if he ever got a wedding ring, he would want it to look like that…so after he walked away, I ordered one for him. I hoped to get it before his birthday and was going to propose to him then. Easy, breezy!!
Then…the gravity of what I was about to do set in. Not the marriage. Y’all, I’ve done that a few times before. I’m a pro at that!! Even the wedding wasn’t an issue in my mind, no stress there. But, the proposal?? Yikes! What if he said no? I know we’d already talked about getting married, but what if on that day, when I got down on one knee, he laughed? Or said, “nah, not ready yet, but thanks for asking! Want some more chicken?” Yaaaaugh!! I was a wreck the whole week leading up to his birthday. The woman who was working on the ring had been in touch and said she’d try to get it Fed-Exed to me before his birthday, but wasn’t positive it would make it. This, of course, added to my full-blown panic.
I am at least well enough acquainted with myself to know that when I freak out, the gift of gab just up and leaves me. (And, sometimes I turn in a circle, inadvertently, while my left arm flaps around as if groundless -- don’t ask!) So, I wrote out what I wanted to say, in lime green ink, of course, so I could just hand it to him with the ring, in case I couldn’t remember my name or why I was there…who are you again? Anyway, back to our heroine…
I was disappointed that the ring hadn’t arrived by the morning of his birthday and decided to wait until it did, giving me some measure of relief. I could put my panic on the back-burner and enjoy his birthday with him. As luck would have it, Fed Ex does run on federal holidays (I know, who gets their birthday named a national holiday, anyway?), but I didn’t know it. When the doorbell rang, he grabbed it while I made the bed. He walked into the bedroom, said in an offhand way, “Hmm, feels like a ring box,” and tossed it to me. Very suavely, I hurled it over my shoulder into the closet and in a voice pitched so high that only the dogs in the complex could hear it said, “What ring box?” Looking confused, he wandered out to make brunch for us. A little uncouth, making him cook for himself on his birthday I know, but we both decided it was better than the alternative…which was ME lighting something on fire for him and calling it toast. But, believe me, having him cook his own lunch on his birthday was the least of my worries at that moment.
In my head, the proposal played out beautifully: I would don a fantastically sexy dress, one he’d always remember, wear high heels that I wouldn't tumble off of, I would open the package, retrieve the ring box, get down on one knee and read him this wonderfully crafted proposal before we sat down to omelets and hash browns. Beautiful, huh? Well, an Idaho girl must have her potatoes, people!
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, what actually happened was this: I was still wearing my pajamas, trying to recover what shred of pride I had left after flinging the package over my head, patting down my bed-head-from-hell, and having to ask for a knife to get the stupid package open…my fingers were shaking so badly I’m lucky I didn’t cut myself. Puzzled, he walked into the bedroom to hand me the knife and asked me what was up. From the middle of the bed, I screwed up my courage, shoved the package and the mangled, sweaty proposal note in his general direction and curled into the fetal position with an audible EEEEP! (It was sort of the same as being on one knee. Right? I just happened to be on both knees, hyperventilating!)
The nicest thing he EVER did was to pick up the note, and without reading it, said, “First -- Yes. Second -- You’re a doof!” Then he hugged me. I started sucking in huge draughts of air at that point. When the pounding of my heart quieted some, I figured out he had accepted my proposal! WHEW! He helped me open the package (stupid shaky fingers, you failed me again!!) and we read the proposal together after I had put the ring on his finger. I initially tried to put it on the wrong hand…but, forgive me, people, it was confusing…there were two hands there, I panicked! Too many choices!! Holy Crap, who knew there could be so much adrenaline involved in a proposal?? Pant, pant, pant!!
To my credit, I had written out the proposal earlier, when I had some semblance of a silver tongue left in my head. And, because of our first date, I ended it with the words: Will you be my wife?
He said yes.
So, every time he jokingly introduces me in this way: “This is my first wife, Kristen.” I will be able to do the same, because, though he isn’t my first spousal unit, he is, indeed, my first wife.
And, though I have since figured out that I’ll never be able to make any money standing on the corner of Suave and Debonair, I am happy to report that I earned some style points for effort (and calories burned in fear) for that proposal. The best part is that all through the deployment, all he needs to do is look at his ring to remember who his favorite doofus is. That market, I DO have cornered!
Peace, love, and crazy proposals to you all!
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