
With marriage proposals comes an endless train wreck of clichés, tired romantic gestures, and all-around stupid attempts to be cute, unique, or impressive. There are few momentous occasions that only happen once in our lives, and understandably, those moments are often terrifying and exciting and a really big deal. We love to dress these moments up in attempt to make them picture-perfect. Deep down we all think that there exists some perfect combination of romantic elements that, when combined in the right sequence, would make anyone say yes.
I found it the day I proposed.
The weather was immaculate; the air warm and inviting, and the ocean breeze just strong enough to be refreshing but not chilly. She has no idea I am about ask her the most important question of my life. We are surrounded by our dearest friends, and everyone is in extraordinary good-cheer, and doing a marvelous job of keeping up the charade of simply being on a meaningless yet scenic group picnic. There is a lull in the conversation.
Her attention shifts away from me for just a moment. The sun catches her hair. This is it. My heart races. I get down on one knee and remove the small velvet box I have been hiding in my sock all day. Everyone else simultaneously pulls out their phones and point them at her. At us. She turns back around. I pop open the box and catch the look in her eyes as she realizes what is happening. I try to push the words I have been practicing in my mind for months through the biggest grin that has ever graced my smug face.
Suddenly, before I can get a single word out, a seagull swoops down out of nowhere and snatches the ring from my hand. In complete shock and utter disbelief, I swing wildly at the bird-devil and luckily catch it by the foot. In a flurry of feathers and screams I wrestle the flapping mess back to earth. Driven by sheer adrenaline I try to pry the ring from the beast’s beak, slicing my fingers in the process. It screeches. She screeches. I screech the loudest. People take pictures. The ungodly strong bastard rips a chunk of flesh from my hand as I pry the ring out of its mouth. Everyone looks on in sheer terror. Blinded by fury, I crush the life out of the damned bird with my bare hands. I try to present my diamond trophy to my wife-to-be in bloodied hands through a cloud of feathers. She finds it oddly romantic. Church bells chime in the distance.
This is one of countless anxiety dreams I had leading up to my actual proposal. In my mind I have dropped the ring off the cliff, I have tripped and fallen off the cliff, and I have tripped, comically stumbled and pushed her off the cliff. I have been struck by lightning. I have fought hurricane-strength weather, swarms of giant bees, and ninjas. But to this day, I see it as a good sign that of all my fears and nightmares, her saying no never crossed my mind. Of that, I was certain.
In the end, the secret to the art of a successful marriage proposal is simply that – knowing.
I found it the day I proposed.
The weather was immaculate; the air warm and inviting, and the ocean breeze just strong enough to be refreshing but not chilly. She has no idea I am about ask her the most important question of my life. We are surrounded by our dearest friends, and everyone is in extraordinary good-cheer, and doing a marvelous job of keeping up the charade of simply being on a meaningless yet scenic group picnic. There is a lull in the conversation.
Her attention shifts away from me for just a moment. The sun catches her hair. This is it. My heart races. I get down on one knee and remove the small velvet box I have been hiding in my sock all day. Everyone else simultaneously pulls out their phones and point them at her. At us. She turns back around. I pop open the box and catch the look in her eyes as she realizes what is happening. I try to push the words I have been practicing in my mind for months through the biggest grin that has ever graced my smug face.
Suddenly, before I can get a single word out, a seagull swoops down out of nowhere and snatches the ring from my hand. In complete shock and utter disbelief, I swing wildly at the bird-devil and luckily catch it by the foot. In a flurry of feathers and screams I wrestle the flapping mess back to earth. Driven by sheer adrenaline I try to pry the ring from the beast’s beak, slicing my fingers in the process. It screeches. She screeches. I screech the loudest. People take pictures. The ungodly strong bastard rips a chunk of flesh from my hand as I pry the ring out of its mouth. Everyone looks on in sheer terror. Blinded by fury, I crush the life out of the damned bird with my bare hands. I try to present my diamond trophy to my wife-to-be in bloodied hands through a cloud of feathers. She finds it oddly romantic. Church bells chime in the distance.
This is one of countless anxiety dreams I had leading up to my actual proposal. In my mind I have dropped the ring off the cliff, I have tripped and fallen off the cliff, and I have tripped, comically stumbled and pushed her off the cliff. I have been struck by lightning. I have fought hurricane-strength weather, swarms of giant bees, and ninjas. But to this day, I see it as a good sign that of all my fears and nightmares, her saying no never crossed my mind. Of that, I was certain.
In the end, the secret to the art of a successful marriage proposal is simply that – knowing.