THE story. Yes, THAT one.

Yes, this is the part when I tell you how Markus proposed. We were folding laundry. No joke.

I've decided I can't be bothered to film myself telling the story, so I will write it down. I'm quite certain my written word will be even better than the oral history version at this point, like all good books, you know, it's always better on paper? 

I really should let Markus tell this story, because it was his plan, after all, or lack thereof that made it perfect but y'all know I'm going to tell it better, right!? Unfortunately he's not here right now so I will save him the time and type it all out. You're welcome.

April 13th we ran a half marathon I can't believe it either in Nashville, TN and it rained the. whole. time. Not to mention, it was about 45 degrees. It was an experience but we survived. I didn't know this at the time obviously but Markus had the ring in his suitcase the entire time we were in Nashville with our friends, he just never found the right moment to pop the question. 

Considering the weather and near death experience from the weekend, I was ill Monday and worked from home. Later that evening, after a day of fussing and griping and bossing orders, I asked Markus to help me fold some laundry.

I should probably mention that earlier in the day Markus also took out my garbage, washed my dishes and straightened the living room. And no, I did not ask him to do any of those things, he just does things like that for me and I know his mother is gasping as she reads this right now (you did great, Urs!)

As Markus gathered up dryer sheets from the remaining pile of laundry and headed to the kitchen to throw them away, I tossed some dish towels at him and said, "Here, while you're in there, you can fold these up and put them away."

I know what you're thinking. Just remember I WASN'T FEELING WELL.

He retorted, "I can, can I?"

Suddenly I realized what a you-know-what I was being and felt awful. 

"Markus," I said as I reached up to hug his neck, "I am sorry. Thank you so much for being so wonderful. You are so good to me, I love you and I do appreciate you, I really do, I'm sorry."

Markus held me tight and in all his modesty said, "you just can't get enough of me, can you!?"

"No, I really can't" I agreed as we parted. 

THERE! 

It was right there, as we broke away from our embrace, Markus reached in to his pocket whilst saying three little words: "On that note..."

[GASP]

Woah. Hold your horses everyone, he was just putting the dryer sheets he had picked up in to his pocket. 

But what did he mean, "On that note..."? Why did he say that? 

It was clear I thought one thing that wasn't, and turned around to put the finishing touches on my laundry, a little disgruntled and confused. 

I turned back towards him and asked, "but what did you mean on that note?!?" And he stood there grinning, shaking, and holding something in his hand. 

A box. A purple box. 

"What IS that?" what is that? "What is that? What. Is. That?" It's earrings, he's just poking fun at me making me think it's something else, it has to be earrings "Markus, what IS that?"

Laughing, he opened the box. It wasn't earrings folks. It was a ring. A RING!

"REALLY? really? wait, really?" Over and over, that's all I could say, "really?" I asked repeatedly. "You. Want to marry. Me?" really? "Like. Forever." really?

Markus, grinning from ear to ear and still shaking, "would it make it more real if I got down on one knee?"

AND HE DID, Y'ALL!

I finally stopped asking if he really meant it, and said YES!

Here comes the bride...?

So Markus proposed marriage, and I said yes.

Actually what I said was, "REALLY? really? Like, really? Re-ally? rrrreally? REALLY? really? wait, really? ...and I wish it stopped there. That story will have to wait for another time, it's much better shared as an oral history in fact, I keep threatening to have someone film me telling the story yet again, so I can just post the video online and be done with it.

So now I'm a bride. Or is it bride-to-be? Can you only be a bride on your wedding day? What are you while you're engaged? Just a fiancé, I suppose? I'm a fiancé - nope. 

[What?!?]

Just one month in to being engaged...

I realize couldn't have picked out a ring even if Markus had asked for my opinion.

I didn't even look around online, that's how little of an idea I had when people would ask what I thought I might like. I never wear rings. How'm I supposed to know what I'll like f-o-r-e-v-e-r? 

"Yellow Gold". That's all I could say. I knew I wanted yellow gold. Apparently the jeweler even questioned it, "you know, the girls these days tend to wear platinum or white gold..." Markus: I know what "they" are wearing. I'm telling you what she wants. 

I do remember an argument a discussion Markus and I shared over whether I should have a "say" in what type of ring I am expected to wear the rest of my life, or not. Clearly we went with "not", thank God. 

I know what I don't want in a wedding dress.

At least I don't have to wear the dress forever, right? Just one day. Phwef! And apparently Markus can't pick this one out for me, I have to do it, right? OKay.

My mother won't be home until June, and I leave about two weeks after my parents land in MS for work in London, so our time frame for doing the mother-daughter-trying-on-wedding-dresses is super short but I am determined to partake in this tradition. I decided it would be best for me to get a better idea of what I do/don't like prior to mom's arrival and our day, half day, couple of hours of trying on dresses. So I made an appointment at David's Bridal just one week after Markus proposed. I hate having a decision looming.

My attendant (I think that's what it's called?) was very knowledgable about the store's inventory and listened to my comments, both verbal and non-verbal. We got along swimmingly. This was a surprise to me because at first I thought we weren't compatible. Not because she wore her blush on her temples, but because she questioned my sanity when I shared my bra size. Side note: for anyone who has not had to go through this before, you have to wear their bras when you're trying on dresses, the corset kind that hook all the way up the back. 

"What bra size do you wear?"

"I wear a 30G, but I realize you won't have my size here in America, so I guess the closest would be a 34DD?"

Attendant looks down at my bosom, then looks up at me with a puzzled look that screams: this chick is delusional! "Ain't no way," she exclaimed.

"I know," I replied calmly clearly I get this often, "I don't look like it, but I assure you it's true. Would you like to see the tag on the bra I am wearing?"

Attendant still perplexed, looks to my sister and friends for some assistance, they are unwilling.

"Look," I say, "just because I don't wear them on the front of my chest, pushed up under my chin, doesn't mean they're not there."

I realize now this was how she wore hers that same day, but I'm not judging her for it, women wear their breasts in different positions, we don't always have a choice! "Mine start under my armpits, see?" Yes, I motioned. 

"Why don't you bring me what you think I wear, and we'll go from there?"

Two bras later we were trying on dresses, and I realized quickly that less of everything is more where my tastes are concerned.

Let's pretend this never happened...

You know those evenings when you just can't stand to be alone with yourself? With your own thoughts? This is one of those evenings.

So. Here we are.

[    ...]

I'm reading an excellent book at the moment why didn't  I think to just go put my nose in it instead of starting this blog post? When I say, "excellent book" what I do not mean is what you are probably thinking. Not The Great Gatsby or Madame Bovary or Shopaholic takes Manhattan. This book is raunchy, it is rude, it is honest, open, it is hilarious, shocking, blunt, it is how I would write a book if I put my life on paper one day. It is called "Let's Pretend This Never Happened (A Mostly True Memoir)" by Jenny Lawson.

Perhaps I purchased it at just the right time, in a moment when my psyche needed the author's sense of humor. Or maybe it's just THAT funny. I think it's just that funny. It had me laughing so hard on a recent airplane ride, I couldn't read the words on account of the tears forming. I sat there, crammed three people in, next to the window, and silently shook so violently that I thought the captain was going to turn on the seatbelt sign and announce "we hit a rough patch of turbulence, folks" over the intercom.

I've read excerpts to Markus and he laughs hard, people, even when the author uses words he usually grimaces at the sound of and he continues to ask, "are you sure Jenny Lawson isn't your pen name?"

Yes. But I envy her.

I've recently decided to start my own book club on account of this book as in just now, you just witnessed me in the act. I'm not accepting any new members, just yet, but I look forward to letting you how it all turns out.