You saved for a month or two thinking it would be enough. You went to all the estate sales and “discount” antique shops possible in hopes of finding that perfect retro ring for her (and affordable for you). Eventually, like all of us, you abandoned all hope of finding a reasonably priced ring that would impress her and make her want to keep your sorry ass around, if only until the sex gets more boring. So you whipped out your Credit card, maxed it out at Target and bought your little phillie that nice .00245 carat ring. Way to go champ.
Eventually, after much planning and drinking the moment arrives and you got down on one knee, or came on a white horse (dude, really? A Horse?) or put it in her drink or sandwich (also a bad move) or any of a thousand permutations of how this thing called “Proposing” happens. If yours went anywhere like mine, well I feel bad for you. There is nothing quite as disturbing as having the woman of your dreams stare with a complete lack of emotion at the rock you have just produced – the only sound is that hissing noise from your ego and your sac…both deflating rapidly. Good times…
Eventually she recovers from the shock of the minuscule rock you produced (the one you picked out; you know the one that is just barely big enough to see in that pewter setting – you cheap bastard). She gently tries it on like it was an onion ring just out of the frylator and then weeps to the realization that she is stuck with you for the next 40 years or so... Good times.
Congratulations. The first stage on the road to wedded bliss has begun. What’s the next move? Well, I’ll tell you. It happens pretty quick…. But I’ll save that for the next post.