The first thing people ask when you get engaged is, how did he do it?! For some reason, these five words have become a part of the standard bride-to-be lexicon and have given birth to the 'Engagement Story'. Needless to say, this month my boyfriend not only made me his valentine, he also put a ring on it, so I know about the engagement story all to well - I have been telling it for weeks. I even contemplated calling in sick to work after hours upon hours of retelling the story just to rest my vocal chords and regain a sense of normalcy. All cynicism aside, the happy ending to this story is that I was whisked away to a lodge upstate and I said yes.
Sounds lovely doesn't it? That's why I skipped to the end. The middle was a little less of a smooth ride, mostly the fault of yours truly. That's because setting the stage for an engagement today is like pulling off a bank heist in broad daylight. Like a game of telephone, engagement stories are passed on like folklore - a complicated scavenger hunt in Central Park, a plane writing 'Will you marry me?' in the sky while you toast champagne from a hot air balloon, or a blind fold and a surprise trip to the Caribbean with five minutes to pack your bag. So while I was buying a 2 dollar Valentine's Day card for my man, he was losing weight from stress, sweating bullets, and tossing and turning over pulling off an elaborate pitch perfect proposal. I, of course, made it all the more difficult by unwittingly thwarting each of his ideas. Weekend in the Caribbean? Too expensive this time of year, lets wait until April. Last minute get away to the Catskills? In the middle of winter...that's crazy talk, cancel it. In fact I am busy, dinner plans Friday, party on Saturday. Super Mandatory. This song and dance continued all week until there was no choice left but to kidnap me from Manhattan. So instead of being gracefully whisked off my feet I was clumsily dragged upstate in the wee hours of the morning during a snow storm.
Since I had insisted on attending each and every plan on the social calendar for no good reason, my kidnapping took place after a three hour dinner at Dos Caminos that I thought I was leaving to go to the sanctuary that is my bed. Surprise! I was met with a midnight ride to the Catskills in sleet and ice conditions (apparently this trip was non-refundable, oops). I was suffering from a Thursday night open bar hang over, in a top five worst outfit from the back of my closet, and my hair was undone. This was not how I had envisioned my big moment (I never imagine my big life moments with curly hair), but I soldiered on. We embarked on our journey as I fought the shakes and we navigated precarious unplowed mountain roads. Thankfully, we did make it to our final destination alive, albeit exhausted, and this story did end in a proposal. It was too late for the planned room service champagne and we were both shades of our former selves, but it didn't matter. Even if you plan for a bells and whistles event full of fanfare, real life takes over, which is how it should be. There were mishaps and bad hair and this cockamamy engagement story was far from perfect but it was us, which ultimately made it perfect.
Sounds lovely doesn't it? That's why I skipped to the end. The middle was a little less of a smooth ride, mostly the fault of yours truly. That's because setting the stage for an engagement today is like pulling off a bank heist in broad daylight. Like a game of telephone, engagement stories are passed on like folklore - a complicated scavenger hunt in Central Park, a plane writing 'Will you marry me?' in the sky while you toast champagne from a hot air balloon, or a blind fold and a surprise trip to the Caribbean with five minutes to pack your bag. So while I was buying a 2 dollar Valentine's Day card for my man, he was losing weight from stress, sweating bullets, and tossing and turning over pulling off an elaborate pitch perfect proposal. I, of course, made it all the more difficult by unwittingly thwarting each of his ideas. Weekend in the Caribbean? Too expensive this time of year, lets wait until April. Last minute get away to the Catskills? In the middle of winter...that's crazy talk, cancel it. In fact I am busy, dinner plans Friday, party on Saturday. Super Mandatory. This song and dance continued all week until there was no choice left but to kidnap me from Manhattan. So instead of being gracefully whisked off my feet I was clumsily dragged upstate in the wee hours of the morning during a snow storm.
Since I had insisted on attending each and every plan on the social calendar for no good reason, my kidnapping took place after a three hour dinner at Dos Caminos that I thought I was leaving to go to the sanctuary that is my bed. Surprise! I was met with a midnight ride to the Catskills in sleet and ice conditions (apparently this trip was non-refundable, oops). I was suffering from a Thursday night open bar hang over, in a top five worst outfit from the back of my closet, and my hair was undone. This was not how I had envisioned my big moment (I never imagine my big life moments with curly hair), but I soldiered on. We embarked on our journey as I fought the shakes and we navigated precarious unplowed mountain roads. Thankfully, we did make it to our final destination alive, albeit exhausted, and this story did end in a proposal. It was too late for the planned room service champagne and we were both shades of our former selves, but it didn't matter. Even if you plan for a bells and whistles event full of fanfare, real life takes over, which is how it should be. There were mishaps and bad hair and this cockamamy engagement story was far from perfect but it was us, which ultimately made it perfect.
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