Loyal readers will no doubt recall that this is the 10th Annual trip around the big nuclear reactor in the sky for my Sweet Lady and me as a going concern. Back in October, we had the 10th Dataversary, and on New Year’s Eve it was the Lovaversary. April 1, 2010 was our 10th Engagaversary. I’ve been so caught up trying to impress BlogAsheville with my crack reviewing skillz that I have not taken the time to tell y’uns the Story of the Engagement. (Which should in no way lead you or BlogAsheville to think that I am anything but totally dedicated to cranking out the music reviews for free CDs. I was also thinking about cranking out a restaurant review in the hopes that I might score some free eats. We’ll see about that.)
But as I was saying, we got engaged on April 1st because we believe in the sanctity of marriage. Truth is, we got engaged on April 1st because I was holding and could not wait any longer. Several weeks earlier, KTbomb, our personal shadkhn, had intervened in what might have become known as The Great Ring Panic of ’00. The Panic being caused by my reluctance to ask my Sweet Lady what she wanted in an engagement ring.
This is not to be confused with not wanting to ask my Sweet Lady if she wanted an engagement ring, or an engagement, or to be married. Despite a dating history of less than six months, we had fairly well established that we were both interested in the same thing: Terrance Trent D’Arby. That mutual bond over TTD was enough to let each of us know that the other was The One. Since my Sweet Lady was The One, I should just know what kind of ring she would want, right?
Right. So off I went to the Haus of Jewels in search of a sharp ring, and seeing the price tags on the rocks, I decided my Sweet Lady was a non-traditional type who did not need a diamond to know that I loved her. It may, in fact, be true that my Sweet Lady is a non-traditional type who does not need a diamond to know I love her, but if we were going to be getting a ring anyway, she damn sure wanted it to be a diamond. KTbomb, shadkhn and Richelieu, skillfully directed my attention to a princess cut solitaire tastefully set in platinum.
We can save the discussion about paying taxes and paying for a diamond ring in the same month for another time. Suffice it to say that the IRS does not like it when you bounce a check. Nonetheless, the ring was ready for delivery on April 1, and the investment having been made, I was ready for some serious question poppage. In the formal garden of the Valley of Love and Delight, with the mountains of the Suwaree framed by blooming forsythia, I got down on one knee and asked my Sweet Lady to marry me.
She said yes. And it has been some time in coming, but I have finally learned that being her One does not mean that I should be able to read my Sweet Lady’s mind. Nor can she read mine. We still need to talk … or text. We chat on le Face sometimes, me in one room, she in the other. We’re very modern, but I’m no less romantic for asking her what she wants. In fact, it’s a lot easier to be romantic when I’m listening instead of trying Vulcan mind melds. When all else fails, we will always have Terrance.