Around Valentine's Day, I decided to ask my wife what she remembered about my marriage proposal. Now I expected her to blush and then smile; maybe she'd 1)sidle up next to me, give me a little kiss. Well she hesitated, then told me it was distinguished only by how forgettable it was. And, after taking an honest look at my effort, I am forced to agree with her.
It was April, 1993. I picked my wife, then girlfriend, up from her Brooklyn apartment and we walked around the corner to have dinner at a new Italian restaurant. During 2)appetizers I asked her what she was doing the following May.
“I have no idea.” she said. “Why?”
“Well I thought we could get married,” I responded.
Thinking I was joking, she kicked me under the table. “Don't do that.”
“I'm serious.” I protested. “I am asking you to marry me.”
Well she smiled, said yes, and the rest is history. No drama, no romance, no 3)professions of love and longing, and no ring. There was not one bit of thought put into the entire event. It was an absolute disaster from beginning to end, and my wife is right to be disappointed.
Now it wasn't that I took the moment lightly; on the contrary, I'd been anxious about the 4)prospect of marrying her for weeks. I just 5)blurted out the proposal 6)lest my nerves get the best of me.
Now I have friends who did things the right way. My best buddy proposed to his girlfriend on New Year's Eve. He took her on a trip to Lake Tahoe, and as the clock struck midnight, he gave her a huge diamond and asked her to be his wife. I have another friend who took his future wife to their favorite Thai food restaurant and arranged for the waiter to present the ring on top of her dinner plate. I should have called one of these guys and asked for advice. Instead, when it was my turn at the line, I threw up a brick.