Something happens to a girl when a diamond finds its way onto her finger. I am no different than those girls we all used to envy and if you’re reading my blog, you’re probably like me…ENGAGED! If you’re not, then you’re probably looking forward to the day that you get to join in. Never fear – your day will come! And when it does, I hope it is as wonderful as mine.
The topic of diamonds became taboo in my relationship. I wanted to get married so badly that it seemed to spill out of my mouth constantly – “What do you want for dinner?…A ring.” That sort of thing. Our five-year anniversary passed, and I began to think that Brandon, my fiancé, would never propose.
On Christmas Eve 2008, we went to his grandfather’s house as usual. I talked about weddings and getting engaged. I snuck a couple of comments to his sister that I thought he may be proposing for New Year’s Eve. I even went so far as to discuss with his mother the fact that she certainly “wants me in the family, right?” Looking back, I can’t believe how ridiculous it all sounds. But I had already gone so far; how could I stop now?
That night back at home, we talked about Christmas and our families, normal day to day topics that weren’t out of the ordinary. I begged him to go look at rings so he could see what I like. I suggested we go the day after Christmas when everything was on sale. He agreed, which surprised me. If he was proposing for New Year’s, why hadn’t he bought the ring? I went to bed frustrated and confused.
In the morning, the clock read 5:30 a.m. as Brandon began to shake me awake. I told him to wait until 7:00 a.m. at least. Getting up early for work kills me, so I certainly didn’t want to wake up early on my day off. He climbed out of bed and went into the den. At 7:00 a.m. exactly, he came back into the room and I reluctantly peeled myself out of bed. We opened random Christmas presents, like a toaster oven and a vegetable steamer. We were appropriately surrounded by paper shreds and bits of ribbon when Brandon said that he forgot to bring a present inside the house and would be right back. I didn’t suspect what was to follow.
He brought back a big box that contained a manila envelope marked “CLUES” on the front. I pulled a slip of paper out of the envelope and began to read what would become my first clue in my own game of “Amazing Race” around the house and backyard. After 13 rounds of my naïve stupor, I reached the race’s end. The final clue was on his computer desktop, so I clicked the icon that pulled up the following text: “The race is over. Turn around!” When I did, he was already on one knee, ring box in hand. The tears began to well in his eyes as he ran through the speech he had prepared. The box creaked open slower than a grandmother walking in heels. What was in that box? Would it be the ring of my dreams? Would it be too small for my taste? What could he possibly know about my style? In those few seconds, I think I had a mini meltdown.
But when it finally presented itself, I had absolutely nothing to worry about. The ring was stunning. Absolutely perfect, as if I had designed it myself. I guess I should give him a little credit – to pick out a ring this detailed and intricate without any help from me is his “get out of jail free” card. But now the real fun starts, right? I get to plan this circus that we like to call the “Southern wedding.”
My parents have NO money saved, and I have BIG wedding wants. The task at hand? To save money on my wedding and still have everything I want. Impossible, you say? Well then, that’s not very optimistic is it? Guess you’ll have to wait to find out.