There are so many proposal stories out there that follow a similar premise of, “Next thing I knew… I don’t remember exactly what he said, I just cried and shook my head yes!”
I guess girls just get so caught up in the moment and there are a million things running through their head, and blah blah blah… WHATEVER. Maybe there really is some chemical imbalance that happens during the girlfriend to fiancee metamorphisis, and short term memory loss kicks in, who knows? Anybody looking for a thesis topic?
Regardless of the future clinical study I’ve just planted in some crazy medical brainiacs mind – I’m either blessed with a short and concise, to the point, no 5-minute proposal speeches kinda guy, or an uncanny photographic memory. My guess is a small combination of both, but the jury’s still out.
So this is how it all went down… (short and concise, just like him)
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We plan a winter trip to Cancun back in June (Apple practically paid us to go – Who’s scared of Swine Flu???), and life moves in 3x fast forward until the night before departure. (Frantic packing and cursing ensued)
Travels are uneventful – got to the airport on time, no delays, direct flight to Mexico, expeditiously maneuver through customs. (My paranoid search for Mexican banditos immediately upon arrival comes back negative, but I do contract some minor arthritis from gripping my bag handle and purse so tightly)
Upon arrival at the resort a bellhop takes our bags up to our room, and I add cardiac arrest to my newly developed list of health issues since we hadn’t yet checked in and he didn’t ask our names, so I assumed “our room” meant “the back of my van.” (Tip extra generously when he does indeed safely transport our bags to our room)
Our original room was lagoon view and smelled a little funny, but I just thought that was the normal smell in Mexico. Mr. Honest Bellhop asks how we like the room – I’m still struggling with irregular heartbeats and the 70 degree difference from Cleveland to Cancun, but somehow manage “Oh, it’s great – Oceanview would be wonderful though.” My cynic points go down drastically when he says (read in strong Spanish accent) “I thought you would like that. I have one ready for you already. Please follow me.”
View from our balcony (mind boggling how different the Caribbean looks than Lake Erie…)
I wore my bathing suit on the plane (there was some thrill in wearing a bikini in Ohio in December) so we drop our stuff and immediately headed out to scope out the grounds. I won’t go into details, will just leave it at: EVERYTHING WAS GORGEOUS AND AMAZING INCREDIBLE AND WARM AND NOT CLEVELAND.
After dinner (delicious) we walk on the beach and I squeel like a 6 year old everytime the tide comes in, because despite my hillbilly upbringing, I highly dislike water that is not PH-balanced and/or comes with a diving board. (Eventually I get over my ‘seaweed ties me up, get stung by a jellyfish, and eaten alive by little oceanfish’ fear and do get in the water)
This was the next day (still a little nervous about swimmy things nibbling my toes)
We head up to the outdoor patio bar for a couple drinks, and I have yet to come to terms with the absolute gorgeous-awesomeness paradise we’re staying at, so during random lapses in conversation I blurt out things like “GOD it’s so nice here!” and “OMG just listen to the tide come in, it’s so cool!” and “How much do you think it will cost to stay for a whole month?” and “OHMYGODICAN’TGETOVERITWE’REACTUALLYHEREANDIT’SBEAUTIFULANDAMAZINGANDPERFECTAND… ” And this is how it plays out from there:
Brian puts down his drink. I’m still goofily smiling and staring out into the water. He grabs my hand and says, “I know how it could be more perfect…” I look at him like What?! You’re crazy! This can’t get any better! but instead say, “How?” He slides off his chair and gets down in front of mine on one knee. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ring that is pretty much my exact essence, if I were made of white gold and round cut diamonds. It’s gorgeous, and I’m staring at it with one hand over my mouth, before I realize he’s waiting for an answer. (I had assumed my “yes” was a given) He puts the ring on and it’s a perfect fit, and we hug and kiss and by this time I’m crying a little, and our cocktail waitress came over to make sure everything is ok. Yes, Cecelia, it couldn’t be better…
I promise I wasn’t wearing this oversized hoodie during the actual proposal
After the fact, I learn Brian had attempted to ask about a hundred times, but my random interjections about the incredibleness of the resort/ocean/drinks/birds/my progressing Spanish kept throwing up little roadblocks. Woops.
Similarly, I find out why he seemed a little pale and shaky when going through customs, at which time the ring was in his backpack and we pressed a button that randomly chose each visitor’s bag-search fate. (I, unbeknownst of the potentially surprise-ruining situation, was thrilled and thought ‘What a fun little lottery game to play! Watch babe! Green! You’re good! Red! Aww, bummer. Green! Green!’) ((The guy right in front of Brian got red-lighted.))
Revisiting our illustrious spot on the patio bar, overlooking the bi-level pool, and the caribbean sea
And also? I was 100% totally, completely, mind-numbingly surprised. Serious. For the girl that’s always thinking four steps ahead, that was a total accomplishment on his part.
So that’s how it happened. We spent the rest of our time their telling people we were “celebrating” or “practicing” rather than just “vacationing” like we were the day before. Feel free to gush and swoon in the comments below – you’ve got a little while until he’s officially off the market.