Burying The Lead

Not that you can tell from the comments section, but man did I get a lot of grief for yesterday's post. What, you don't care about sea bass? And Roero Arneis? No taste, no taste whatsoever.

So those of you who are interested in a more chick lit-esque version of the story, read on.

To be honest, we had been talking about possibly getting married for some time--precipitated, perhaps, by the kids always asking about it--and this was the first big night out in a while, so I did have some inkling that there might be a proposal at some point in the evening. But when the half hour alone together in the room passed uneventfully, I assumed the rest of the evening would as well.

So when Guy held my hand and started talking about how happy he was, I didn't think anything of it, and sort of accidentally changed the subject asking about how happy he thought So and So were. When he grabbed my hand again and brought us back on topic, it started to dawn on me.

We talked about how we had talked about getting married, but now we want to stop talking about it.

My face got hot.

We talked about how happy we both are.

My back got hot.

But because it was in the form of a discussion, it didn't feel all that different from all of the "we'll probably get married someday"s that we'd had before. There was no ring or anything, and I wasn't sure that I could get up from the table and say "I'm engaged."

Cordelia: Would you say the thing?

Guy: Will you marry me?

Cordelia: Mmmhmmm.

Big smiles.

And I shivered through the rest of the meal.