Given my history with men, I always knew it was inevitable that my dating bliss with The Boyfran would have to come to an end. There was no way all that woodland-creature-infused sexy talk was going to keep the relationship going forever. Though I’ll admit—I didn’t see this coming.
We actually spent the last few days together, enjoying the change from one season to the next. But I could tell something was wrong. We were walking along the edge of a riverbank, admiring the golden aspens that set the mountainsides on fire. I decided to just ask him about it.
“Are you okay?”
The Boyfran looked off into the distance, towards the cable chord that’s used to ferry people to the summit. We’d talked about riding it, even though he deals with intense vertigo.
“I’m just nervous about doing something,” he said.
“Babe. We really don’t have to ride the gondola, it’s not a big deal.”
“No, it’s not that. It’s this.”
He pulled his hand from the pocket of his jeans. He was holding a ring.
My hands flew to my face. I didn’t believe what was happening. My brain was scanning the situation and returning a result of “Does Not Compute.” I felt like I was having a lucid dream and would wake up at any moment. I waited for the river to turn into a wave of gold coins or for a spaceship to land on the opposite bank. But it didn’t. This was real, this was happening.
I began cussing. Straight up profanity. Like a lady.
“Oh my gosh. Oh F*ck. Holy shit.”
He was still standing there, holding the ring.
“Wait,” I said abruptly. “Are you going to get down on one knee?”
He knelt in front of me and grabbed my right hand, preparing to slide the ring onto my finger.
“Will you marry me?”
I must have thought he looked alone down there, or very far away, because suddenly I was down there with him, saying yes over and over before realizing he was trying to put the ring on the wrong hand. I gave him the other.
“Oops,” he said. “Well, it was MY left.”
We ended up sitting on the grass for a while, watching the water and just soaking everything in. I couldn’t help but question him on every aspect of his sneakiness, wondering when he had bought the ring and how he’d kept it hidden. He’d done so well.
“You told me exactly what ring you wanted on our second date,” he reminded me.
I decided to focus on the future instead.
“You get to make coffee for me every morning for the rest of your life. You’re so lucky.”
We decided to wait until that night to start telling our family and friends. That way we could just enjoy the thrill of the moment as we drove back through the beautiful landscape. But by that point it had begun raining and I was convinced we were going to end up driving off the side of a mountain and dying in a fiery crash and no one would ever even know to share in our brief moment of joy.
“But at least you would have gotten your ring before you died,” he said.
Damn if that’s not actually a little bit accurate. I’ve suddenly become the 14-year-old girl I couldn’t be, back when all my friends were gushing over wedding magazines and reciting lines from the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice. Somehow, the idea of planning a wedding doesn’t sound absolutely horrifying. Though if Maurna gets her way, it will be psych-hospital themed.
“Are you going to invite that waitress?”
“That waitress,” The Boyfran said. “The one who said your hair looked pretty. You said she was your new best friend. And that we had to tip extra.”
Oh yes. She is definitely invited. When did I get so shallow? Who cares, it’s delicious.
I was so glad he’d taken me somewhere secluded– and possibly dangerous, given the looming thunderstorms– in order to propose. Nothing turns me on more than a lingering sense of doom. And nothing frightens me more than a crowd of spectators.
“Of course,” he said, “I know you don’t like people.”
Except for all of you, of course. Because shortly after getting engaged, I immediately removed my iPhone so I could take notes for the blog. And maybe my grandchildren. But mostly for you guys.
It’s all going to take some getting used to. I still call him “Boyfran” in those intimate moments where I’m slow-motion backhanding him, or apologizing for the fact I stopped driving in the middle of the road because I was thinking too hard to remember I was in a car, behind a steering wheel.
We brainstormed for new names, but“The Fiance” just lacks the same level of charm.
“What about Feyonce, like Beyonce but with a Fey, like Tina?”
I’m not sure I can wrap my mind around this new F word. I was buying candy earlier while The Boyfran got gas, and the cashier told me they were Buy One Get One Free.
Here’s what I wanted to say: “My boyfriend will judge me if I buy two bags of candy.”
Here’s what I realized I was now supposed to say: “My Fiance will judge me if I buy two bags of candy.”
Here’s what I actually ended up saying: “My… candy.”
It’s just not going to work out. Instead, I think we have to say Goodbye to The Boyfran and take the plunge into a brave new world. One where you actually know his name:
Yes. That’s right. Now you know the truth, and now we can dispense with pleasantries and embrace the single greatest celebrity couple name that has ever existed, first discovered by the brilliant Carly.
What’s YOUR mushy love/proposal story? (Alternatively, you are more than welcome to sound off on your heartbreak and bitterness). Do you think I should transition this blog into a chronicle of my wedding and perfect life of superiority and marital bliss? Have you ever truly doubted whether you were awake?
Want to keep in touch? Find me on Facebook.