I don't discriminate against Dickheads

The second least surprising thing that happened on Friday was that Michael asked me to marry him.

The least surprising thing is that I said yes.

That’s the short version, of course, but few things irrit me more than people who imagine that you want to spend all of their days worshipping at the altar of their wuv, and hearing minute details about cake toppers and bonboniere. FFS.

So, details under the cut. And a promise to the world that I’m not going to become one of those people just because I’m going to have to throw a party.

I knew for about a week before that it was going to happen. Maybe a little more.

You see, Michael is fine and dandy at making a decision. However, then he needs validation. So, for example, he decided to get an iPod about 6 months ago, and then I got 5 months of “You sure that I should get an iPod?”. And usually the person that he bounces these things off is me.

So, when he couldn’t- because you know, he’s going to propose to me- he slowly goes insane. And he started having what he called ‘freak outs’, but they weren’t really his version of freakouts (which usually involve swearing and saying Brad Bird a lot). In fact they sounded a lot like panic attacks. He kept blaming work, but it really couldn’t be that because work wasn’t that bad, it’s only the calm before the storm. It really didn’t justify two freakouts in a day. It had to be something bigger than that.

On top of that, he was getting more desperate in his words of affection to me (and if you know us, that’s fairly regular). Suddenly, it wasn’t words of love, but You Really Need to Know That I Will Love You Forever And Ever.

Put those two things together, add our 4 year anniversary, and… Oh.

So for the last week, probably a little more, I was trying to manage having a boyfriend that was about to do a massive thing, whilst at the same time pretending that the massive thing didn’t exist. At this point, the feeling is concern for Freakout Boy, and I’m bloody relieved that tradition dictates the man to ask. I mean, it takes balls to propose, and if someone else has do it instead of me, really, I would let the other person do it.

Plus, I was going to say yes, That was the easy part. So last week it was a pair of people trying to act normal.

Come Friday evening, Michael picks me up from work, keeps fiddling with his mobile (still need to ask about that), and takes me on a tour of places from early in our relationship. And then he took me into the Nova , to the cinema where we had our first date 4 years ago, played the start of the movie that we saw on our first ‘date’ on his month-old iPod (My Neighbour Totoro, so it wasn’t that embarrassing), got on one knee, and presented me with an empty box with a post it note in it saying “Will you marry me?”. And I said yes.

I’m glad that he didn’t have to deal with the proposal as well as choosing a ring for me. He could be in the looney bin by now.

And then after that we went and got some pizza. And that’s the story of my engagement. At this moment only members of the family know. And now you know.