In December 2010, I announced at this here blog that I would be quitting my advertising job after a long year of saving up and paring down. I packed my bags and took off for Europe.
In December 2011, I announced that I would be moving to Paris to be with the lovely Christophe, whom I met in my travels.
And now, December 2012, I have another rockin’ announcement.
It’s a sweet story. And kind of bloody.
We were installing a shower door in the bathroom. I wanted it for my birthday (December 27th). I’m practical with presents and I love good showers. Plus, the shower curtain skeeved me out when it slicked up my leg. So gross. Even when I bought a new one, fresh out of the package, I felt like I was at the Bates Motel.
So we got the door installed. He’s standing in the shower talking to me. I’m standing outside the shower talking to him. No one is touching the shower door that decides to, on its own accord, come crashing to the ground and break into a million tiny glass pieces.
Here’s something I learned about Christophe in that moment: When he is very mad he whistles.
I suggested warming up leftovers for dinner. He suggested going out for a beer afterward. We agreed.
He shoveled up the glass and I got busy with potatoes, both of us on opposite edges of the apartment stewing in our own misery. I wanted that shower door. He wanted to give it to me.
Soon he comes out with a bloody finger.
(This isn’t how you saw this engagement story going, is it.)
He says, “Darling, I need something.” I look at his finger and think of the Blood Spot Specimen Collection Kits we got in the mail from this vitamin program we are in. They send a packet with a pin to prick your finger, you drop your blood on the test strip and mail it back. They measure your Vitamin D levels. Genius.
I grab for the kit. “Two birds! You don’t have to prick your finger a second time.”
He looks at me like I’m insane. Clearly not the time. I put down the kit and grab for the bandaids.
He goes back into the bathroom, I go back to the potatoes. He comes back to the potatoes, gets on one knee, reveals the ring and says:
“I love you, darling. Will you stay my…”
He doesn’t know the word for wife. Did I mention we don’t speak the same language? Long story. Longer than this story, in fact.
“Wife?” I say.
“Yes! Will you stay my wife?”
I didn’t get into the verb correction between ‘to stay’ and ‘to be.’ Later. Later.
Ring on, potatoes ready, wound dressed. A perfect proposal.
It’s hardly a lobster dinner at the Rainbow Room, but it’ll do.
He said later that he was probably going to propose on December 21st with an End-Of-One-World-Beginning-Of-Another theme, or possibly on Christmas. Or maybe after a nice dinner out. But on Monday night he realized that this bad feeling about this stupid shower door had to be changed into a good feeling about something else. This is one of the many reasons why saying yes to him was easy.
Yes, yes yes yes!
Also, I got a book deal for the book proposal I’ve been working on. Same day!
But more on that in another post.