I'm relatively newly engaged. Almost five months ago my man got down on bended knee under fairy light in front of a stream of taxi drivers and asked me to be his wife. My heart kept so high I thought it would burst out somewhere near my clavicle. Surprisingly, it stayed in my chest. The smile on my face was so enormous my cheeks were at risk of cracking. Everything after that is a bit of a blur but I am pretty sure I told him it would be a privilege then he pulled out the ring and I responded in typical inelegance with "HOLY FUCK!". The ring was a-maz-ing. It's quite honestly the prettiest piece of jewellery I have ever seen. Ever! It is exquisite.
Three brilliant cut diamonds (which I am told are representative of past, present and future and makes the ring even more special) set on a tapered white gold band inlaid with more diamonds. It's classy, elegant and stunningly beautiful (bit like međ).
And it fits!
I stare at it all the time. Yep, still.
But I digress.
After I told him he had to put it on me (why is this man marrying me?), we walked back to our hotel. My gorgeous new fiancé and me, the Cheshire Cat. I could wipe the stupid grin off my face. I'd had a pretty shitty day at work. And I had to drag my sorry carcass out to dinner a couple of hours earlier. I had been stifling yawns throughout the meal but it was like someone had pressed "restart". I was burning with energy.
My fiancé suggested we drop into the casino for a cocktail and a dabble on the pokies (it's tradition that we splurge and spend a twenty on the machines whenever we go to the casino and he said it seemed fitting). We walked through the casino, my fiancé trying to find a five cent machine (we're big spenders) and me, the Cheshire Cat, gawking at the diamonds on my left ring finger.
We played until the money ran out - about half an hour or so then found a bar to grab a cocktail. He caught me staring at the ring and asked if I liked it. So flustered at being sprung admiring my new bling, I gushed like an illiterate schoolgirl some incoherent garble about it being "beautifully stunning" (I meant stunningly beautiful). He didn't seem to notice and as he drank his cocktail the conversation moved onto something else.
When we returned to our hotel he asked who I wanted to tell first. "The kids" shot out of my mouth before he even finished the question. But I told him I wanted to Skype them so I could see their faces. It was at that moment we realised the time. Though we were in New Zealand and the two hour time zone difference was in our favour at night it was still too late to call the kids. So I told him I wanted to tell my sister next. I called her and gushed at her over the phone for ten minutes then sent her a photo of the ring. Oh. My. God. The ring.
We were due to catch up with his family the next day. We went out for a lovely breakfast and I insisted we find the time to get a manicure. He dutifully found a nail salon and made an appointment while I got ready. He occupied himself for the half hour it took for the manicure and we headed off to meet his folks.
It was at this point he said I should take the ring off and he would find the right time to tell his parents.
Cue tantrum.
Step aside radiant fiancé (the Cheshire Cat had departed overnight, thankfully), enter raging beast woman from Irrational City.
And the accusatory-laced questions fly "Why would you give it to me only to take it back?"; "Are you just playing with me?"; "When do I get it back?"; "How long is it going to take until the ring is back on my finger?" and so on.
Woah... Where did SHE come from?!
Gorgeous man that he is, my spunk of a fiancé calmed me down with "my folks are old, if we turn up and tell them straight away my mum might keel over with excitement". I laughed at his ludicrousness and told him that they're his parents and if that's how he wanted to tell them then that was what we would do. So I gave him back the ring that had been mine for a little over twelve hours and sulked a little more (but with less intensity) until we arrived.
After the usual greeting and putting our luggage away, we milled about the kitchen a bit (my man needs to eat regularly lest he morph into some crazy beast man or fade into nothingness with hunger - either response is normal).
'Well', I thought, 'he's obviously not going to do this in a hurry'. So I grabbed my computer and set up on the kitchen table to do some work.
About an hour later my patience was wearing thin and I tried to communicate my intentions in silent eye gestures. Ten minutes later my fiancé cottons on to my darting eye movements and shakes his head. My eye movements change to rolling and I return to work.
What feels like an eternity slowly and painfully ticks by.
When I can no longer concentrate on work I get up to make a cup of tea and finally get the nod. A very casual announcement was made and my mother in law to be cries with happiness. He then texts his sister a picture of the ring. No words. Just the image. She's into it in a flash and calls him up to get the story.
He's now in charge of telling the proposal story whenever anyone asks. He sets the scene by detailing the polished wooden floors and round booths at the restaurant; the degustation meal; the cocktails; the fairy lights and him getting down on bended knee. Which is a win win win - he tells the tale, people love it and I get to hear his account of one of the three happiest days of my life (together with the ones on which my children were born).
