#28: The Happy Ending that's really a Happy Beginning
My life over the past few weeks had been incredibly dull. Since Sir set out for North Carolina I was intent on living in mediocrity. I got up, went to work, occasionally went to the gym, came home, watched TV while pretending to pack up my apartment, and went to bed. I had the song "Ain't no sunshine when she's gone" (only replace "she's" with "he's") stuck in my head for days. ("Ain't no sunshine when he's gone [bohm, bohm, bohm] It's not warm when he's away [bohm, bohm, bohm].) I walked around like that for two weeks, melancholy, Sir's name on my lips, a sad, sad little love ballad in my head.
My mom, bless her heart (See ya'll? I'm working on the southern speak), called to tell me she was taking me out to a "dress-up" dinner at a swanky downtown restaurant on Friday (Nov. 4). "Reservations are at 7:00," she said, "Be sure not to make other plans." Fiiiiiiiiine. Not like was I going to do anything besides laundry anyway. Siiiiiiiiigh.
Friday afternoon (that same Nov. 4th - for those of you keeping score), Sir called me at work around 11:30 to ask how my day was going and what my plans were for that weekend. He told me he was in Durham, North Carolina looking for part-time work at one of the malls. I mentioned dinner with my mom and then moaned about how typical my weekend was looking and how no one loved me and none of my friends were going to be around for the weekend so I guessed I'd just do laundry and sleep and be unloved. He told me that he loved me and that he would talk to me later. Me: "Siiiiiiiiiigh (there were a lot of those after Sir left). Whatever. Pout."
About half-an-hour later, the front desk called my cube to inform me that I had a package and did I have time to come pick it up? I figured it must be flowers or something since all other packages would have been delivered to the mailroom instead of the front desk. The thought that Sir had sent me flowers (because who else would?) brought a brief smile to my sad, sad, Eeyore face. I hoofed it downstairs, through the security doors and to the front desk where the receptionist was on the phone and there was a beautiful vase of pale pink and purple roses, daisies, and lilies. The card stuck in the middle of the bouquet did indeed have my name on it, written in Sir's handwriting.
I communicated, with hand gestures, corporate ID waving and perhaps a shimmy or two, to the on-the-phone receptionist that I was the one for whom the flowers were intended and that I would be taking them now. I picked up the bouquet and was heading back through security when I heard a "Psssssst!"
Psssst?
Hey I know that psssst...
There he was. My beloved, handsome, wasn't-he-in-Durham-a-half-an-hour-ago, lying, sneaky but-oh-so-lovely Sir. Standing in Minnesota, in the atrium of my office, wearing the biggest grin I had ever seen.
I don't remember running from the security doors to his arms; I don't know how I didn't drop the flowers. But somehow I ended up with my face planted in his chest, my one free arm around him, trying my hardest not to sob in front of the receptionist. I couldn't stop kissing him and hugging him and trying, through snot and tears, to ask, "How are you here? What are you doing here?"
Turns out Sir and my parents and his parents were all in cahoots. His parents had used their frequent flier miles to send him to Minnesota for the weekend, and my mom had picked him up from the airport. My mom also, by making reservations at Swanky Downtown Restaurant, had not only kept me from having other plans for the night of Nov. 4th, but had actually made the reservations for Sir and I instead of her and I, too. And the whole lot of them, parents and Sir, had been keeping this visit under wraps the entire time I'd been moaning and lamenting and siiiiiiiiiiighing on the phone to them. The entire time! Tricksy parents-es.
Sir mumbled into my hair, as my head was still firmly attached to his chest, that maybe I could take some time for lunch? I knew I couldn't just have one hour at lunch with him and then come back for the rest of the day at work. My concentration level is probably only at 25% during the second half of the day on any given Friday anyway. But knowing Sir was at home waiting to spend an ENTIRE weekend with me? Anyone at the office would be lucky if they could get me to react to a loud noise or bright light, let alone get me to do any work. As soon as I had convinced myself that Sir was not going to disappear if I left his side, I ran back to the office and took the rest of the day off.
After showering and napping at home, and much MUCH squishy, cutsy cuddling and dewy-eyed staring (the details of which I'll spare you, because I love you guys that much), Sir and I headed out to the restaurant. And though I suffered from poorly labeled exits in the parking garage stairwell (I ended up in a totally different building than the signs said I would), we were successfully seated at a fabulous table facing windows that overlooked the park.
I was nothing but couth that night, I tell you, as I always am in expensive restaurants where people tend to stare if you let food fall out of your mouth even if it is really hot and burning your tongue. I daintily ate most of the bread. Then I benevolently shared half of the appetizer with Sir. I ate the majority of my meal and had a few lady-like bites of Sir's meal. And then there was the gigantic mountain of mashed potatoes I may or may not have consumed. (Well, it was all so GOOD and there are starving people in Africa.)
Sir barely touched his food, which I found odd because he ordered steak. And people, if there is one thing my man loves, it's his steak. What I found even more odd? He barely drank any of his beer. It was that which finally began to freak me out a little.
"Are you ok?"
"Yeah, I'm fine."
10 minutes more of him pushing his steak around in his plate and gazing longingly at his beer without actually drinking any of it.
"Are you sure you're ok?"
"I've got a bit of a headache. No biggie."
Well, ok then. He sometimes does get headaches when he flies, change of pressure and all. So I didn't think anything more of it.
On our way home, I was feeling bloated and stuffed to gills and just a tad gluttonous when Sir turned to me and said, "I've been on a plane all day, let's go for a walk." Fair enough, my waistline could probably use it. But it's 35 degrees outside, I'm in a short skirt and four inch heels. Can I change first?
He looked at me like I had pronounced the workweek would be extended from five to seven days and national holidays? Are cancelled. "Yeah, I guess that'd be ok," he mumbled dejectedly.
I took my time changing into jeans and hiking boots, mostly because Sir obviously had not wanted to come back to the apartment and sometimes it's kinda fun to push his buttons (I know you're reading honey, I love you!). As I changed as slowly as possible, he wore a hole in my carpet from pacing between the television in the living room to the table in the kitchen. One final, and not really necessary but funny (because poking the proverbial bear is fun! Poke! Ha!) (Confidential to Sir- LOVE you!), primping, I was ready to go.
We drove to "our lake," which is a park that Sir and I have frequented from the beginning of our relationship: in the winter, cuddling on the dock and looking at stars (awwwwwwww), in the summer, reading and picnicking in the grass. Sir put his arm around my waist and led me down the short path from the parking lot to the dock. Ok, I thought, you wanted to take a walk Mr. GrumpyPants McNoYouCan'tChangeFirstFineDoItFast, and now we're taking the shortest path out here?
Once on the dock though, he pulled me into a nice big bear hug, and all the GrumpyPants McNoYouCan'tChangeFirstFineDoItFast thoughts flew away as, resting my head on his chest, I remembered that during the last few weeks of siiiiiiighing, the only place I had wanted to be was in his arms.
Because of our height differece, my head rests just right for me to hear his heart when we hug. And folks, at that moment, I was afraid Sir's heart was going to fly through his chest cavity and attack my ear. It was thumping at an alarming volume.
"Are you REALLY sure you're ok?" I tried to remember the symptoms of a heart attack. "You're heart is pounding like mad!"
"It's beating for you," He said sweetly (awwwwwwww.) He took a deep breath. "I have a lot of good memories of this place," he said. "You know what my favorite one is?"
No, I really didn't.
"It's the one where I flew in and surprised you for the weekend. Took you out for a nice dinner at the Swanky Downtown Restaurant. Got down on one knee." He got down on one knee. "Pulled out a ring box." He pulled out a ring box. "And asked you, 'Will you marry me?' "
Well right around "got down on one knee," I lost it. I finally understood what was happening: the surprsie visit, Sir being too nervous to eat, his anxiety at delaying our "walk" and his poor pounding heart. My hands flew up to my mouth and I mumbled, "Oh my God, oh my God," through the rest of his proposal. By the time he got around to the "marry me" part, I attacked him, nearly knocked the ring into the lake and blubbered "Yes" about a thousand times into his ear. (Wouldn't this have been an awful story if I had answered "no"?)
We're engaged! I am the future Mrs. Sir! (Lady Sir? Sir's Lady? The Princess of Quite a Lot Now With More Sir?)
I'm sureyou all ya'll (argh!) have questions. Here are the answers to those questions we've found people ask most often when they find out we're engaged:
But hot damn people. I'm going to be a wife!
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My mom, bless her heart (See ya'll? I'm working on the southern speak), called to tell me she was taking me out to a "dress-up" dinner at a swanky downtown restaurant on Friday (Nov. 4). "Reservations are at 7:00," she said, "Be sure not to make other plans." Fiiiiiiiiine. Not like was I going to do anything besides laundry anyway. Siiiiiiiiigh.
Friday afternoon (that same Nov. 4th - for those of you keeping score), Sir called me at work around 11:30 to ask how my day was going and what my plans were for that weekend. He told me he was in Durham, North Carolina looking for part-time work at one of the malls. I mentioned dinner with my mom and then moaned about how typical my weekend was looking and how no one loved me and none of my friends were going to be around for the weekend so I guessed I'd just do laundry and sleep and be unloved. He told me that he loved me and that he would talk to me later. Me: "Siiiiiiiiiigh (there were a lot of those after Sir left). Whatever. Pout."
About half-an-hour later, the front desk called my cube to inform me that I had a package and did I have time to come pick it up? I figured it must be flowers or something since all other packages would have been delivered to the mailroom instead of the front desk. The thought that Sir had sent me flowers (because who else would?) brought a brief smile to my sad, sad, Eeyore face. I hoofed it downstairs, through the security doors and to the front desk where the receptionist was on the phone and there was a beautiful vase of pale pink and purple roses, daisies, and lilies. The card stuck in the middle of the bouquet did indeed have my name on it, written in Sir's handwriting.
I communicated, with hand gestures, corporate ID waving and perhaps a shimmy or two, to the on-the-phone receptionist that I was the one for whom the flowers were intended and that I would be taking them now. I picked up the bouquet and was heading back through security when I heard a "Psssssst!"
Psssst?
Hey I know that psssst...
There he was. My beloved, handsome, wasn't-he-in-Durham-a-half-an-hour-ago, lying, sneaky but-oh-so-lovely Sir. Standing in Minnesota, in the atrium of my office, wearing the biggest grin I had ever seen.
I don't remember running from the security doors to his arms; I don't know how I didn't drop the flowers. But somehow I ended up with my face planted in his chest, my one free arm around him, trying my hardest not to sob in front of the receptionist. I couldn't stop kissing him and hugging him and trying, through snot and tears, to ask, "How are you here? What are you doing here?"
Turns out Sir and my parents and his parents were all in cahoots. His parents had used their frequent flier miles to send him to Minnesota for the weekend, and my mom had picked him up from the airport. My mom also, by making reservations at Swanky Downtown Restaurant, had not only kept me from having other plans for the night of Nov. 4th, but had actually made the reservations for Sir and I instead of her and I, too. And the whole lot of them, parents and Sir, had been keeping this visit under wraps the entire time I'd been moaning and lamenting and siiiiiiiiiiighing on the phone to them. The entire time! Tricksy parents-es.
Sir mumbled into my hair, as my head was still firmly attached to his chest, that maybe I could take some time for lunch? I knew I couldn't just have one hour at lunch with him and then come back for the rest of the day at work. My concentration level is probably only at 25% during the second half of the day on any given Friday anyway. But knowing Sir was at home waiting to spend an ENTIRE weekend with me? Anyone at the office would be lucky if they could get me to react to a loud noise or bright light, let alone get me to do any work. As soon as I had convinced myself that Sir was not going to disappear if I left his side, I ran back to the office and took the rest of the day off.
After showering and napping at home, and much MUCH squishy, cutsy cuddling and dewy-eyed staring (the details of which I'll spare you, because I love you guys that much), Sir and I headed out to the restaurant. And though I suffered from poorly labeled exits in the parking garage stairwell (I ended up in a totally different building than the signs said I would), we were successfully seated at a fabulous table facing windows that overlooked the park.
I was nothing but couth that night, I tell you, as I always am in expensive restaurants where people tend to stare if you let food fall out of your mouth even if it is really hot and burning your tongue. I daintily ate most of the bread. Then I benevolently shared half of the appetizer with Sir. I ate the majority of my meal and had a few lady-like bites of Sir's meal. And then there was the gigantic mountain of mashed potatoes I may or may not have consumed. (Well, it was all so GOOD and there are starving people in Africa.)
Sir barely touched his food, which I found odd because he ordered steak. And people, if there is one thing my man loves, it's his steak. What I found even more odd? He barely drank any of his beer. It was that which finally began to freak me out a little.
"Are you ok?"
"Yeah, I'm fine."
10 minutes more of him pushing his steak around in his plate and gazing longingly at his beer without actually drinking any of it.
"Are you sure you're ok?"
"I've got a bit of a headache. No biggie."
Well, ok then. He sometimes does get headaches when he flies, change of pressure and all. So I didn't think anything more of it.
On our way home, I was feeling bloated and stuffed to gills and just a tad gluttonous when Sir turned to me and said, "I've been on a plane all day, let's go for a walk." Fair enough, my waistline could probably use it. But it's 35 degrees outside, I'm in a short skirt and four inch heels. Can I change first?
He looked at me like I had pronounced the workweek would be extended from five to seven days and national holidays? Are cancelled. "Yeah, I guess that'd be ok," he mumbled dejectedly.
I took my time changing into jeans and hiking boots, mostly because Sir obviously had not wanted to come back to the apartment and sometimes it's kinda fun to push his buttons (I know you're reading honey, I love you!). As I changed as slowly as possible, he wore a hole in my carpet from pacing between the television in the living room to the table in the kitchen. One final, and not really necessary but funny (because poking the proverbial bear is fun! Poke! Ha!) (Confidential to Sir- LOVE you!), primping, I was ready to go.
We drove to "our lake," which is a park that Sir and I have frequented from the beginning of our relationship: in the winter, cuddling on the dock and looking at stars (awwwwwwww), in the summer, reading and picnicking in the grass. Sir put his arm around my waist and led me down the short path from the parking lot to the dock. Ok, I thought, you wanted to take a walk Mr. GrumpyPants McNoYouCan'tChangeFirstFineDoItFast, and now we're taking the shortest path out here?
Once on the dock though, he pulled me into a nice big bear hug, and all the GrumpyPants McNoYouCan'tChangeFirstFineDoItFast thoughts flew away as, resting my head on his chest, I remembered that during the last few weeks of siiiiiiighing, the only place I had wanted to be was in his arms.
Because of our height differece, my head rests just right for me to hear his heart when we hug. And folks, at that moment, I was afraid Sir's heart was going to fly through his chest cavity and attack my ear. It was thumping at an alarming volume.
"Are you REALLY sure you're ok?" I tried to remember the symptoms of a heart attack. "You're heart is pounding like mad!"
"It's beating for you," He said sweetly (awwwwwwww.) He took a deep breath. "I have a lot of good memories of this place," he said. "You know what my favorite one is?"
No, I really didn't.
"It's the one where I flew in and surprised you for the weekend. Took you out for a nice dinner at the Swanky Downtown Restaurant. Got down on one knee." He got down on one knee. "Pulled out a ring box." He pulled out a ring box. "And asked you, 'Will you marry me?' "
Well right around "got down on one knee," I lost it. I finally understood what was happening: the surprsie visit, Sir being too nervous to eat, his anxiety at delaying our "walk" and his poor pounding heart. My hands flew up to my mouth and I mumbled, "Oh my God, oh my God," through the rest of his proposal. By the time he got around to the "marry me" part, I attacked him, nearly knocked the ring into the lake and blubbered "Yes" about a thousand times into his ear. (Wouldn't this have been an awful story if I had answered "no"?)
We're engaged! I am the future Mrs. Sir! (Lady Sir? Sir's Lady? The Princess of Quite a Lot Now With More Sir?)
I'm sure
- The ring? Share the details of The Precious!
My ring is a beautiful princess-cut solitaire on a white-gold band. Exactly what I wanted. You done good, Sir! - So when are you two planning on getting married?
We DON'T KNOW YET, OK? (Can you tell I've been asked that a lot?) Right now we're talking about it, but we're still concentrating on step one, which is cohabitating the same state. - How long have you two been dating anyway?
We met in August of 2003 at our former workplace, Evil Company That Will Never Be Mentioned By Name Again. We celebrated our first anniversary on Jan. 1, 2005. - Are you guys planning on having kids?
Now look here. There is the line. You left it all the way back there when you leapt over it. One thing at a time, k? Thanks.
But hot damn people. I'm going to be a wife!
Labels: Are we married yet?, My one and only Sir
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posted by Sun at 12:00 PM
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