The Imperfect / Perfect Proposal
While every girl might have a plan in mind for how she hopes her engagement goes, I’ve always enjoyed the ones that don’t go to plan. Hence, why I delight in mine being filled with inexplicably bad hair, rain and some smelly, barnyard favorites.
The future Mr. and I had been together a little under 3 years, when he finally racked up the courage to pop the question. He reported after the fact, that he had ran through several scenarios before deciding to go for broke at our local Christmas at the Zoo. He figured between the snow, twinkling lights and holiday cheer, it would be perfect… perfect – obviously – being the operative word.
The night we had tickets, it was freezing cold, ultra sludgy and pouring down rain, which is always an amazing combo for my naturally frizz-nasty hair to shine. The minute we stepped out of the car, I went from perfectly quaffed to down right dump. My hair swelled to twice it’s normal size, and even though it was freezing, it still managed to take on tropical storm’esque ferver. As we flopped from display to display – 95% of which are outside – we became wetter, colder and smellier, until we finally reached Santa’s Workshop… <sweet sigh of relief>… an INDOOR Exhibit!.
The sweet sigh of relief, however, was quickley turned into frantic gasps for air, as we realized it was hotter than Blue Blazes inside Santa’s Workshop and couln’t get all out layers off fast enough to rebalance our internal thermometers. So, with incredibly unladylike fashion, I began to sweat… not glisten or glow or any other verb women try to use to make themselves feel better… I was full on dripping sweat. Both awesome and attractive.
Not only that, but like any woman with naturally curly hair knows… the damage done from humidity is down right inconceivable. So, just when i thought my hair souldnt’ get worse, it did. But, did I let this get me down? Nooooo. Instead, I began to embrace my new look as a homeless cave man and kept on trucking. As we left Santa’s Workshop to reemerge ourselves in the great outdoors, I noticed Tanner (my Mister!) started to talking in all kinds of sentimental tones.
Now, as a female, I realize it’s blasphemy to say this, but I’m actually not really good with all the super mushy speak. And apparently, neither is Santa’s Little Helper, because just as Tan Man really started to get onto a roll, he was rudely interrupted by the pungent smell coming from the reindeer one pin over… I mean, really? They should biohazzard that stuff.
Finally, as we neared the end and approached the exit, I noticed that Tanner wasn’t beside me any longer. Frantically, I tried to find him through a sea of massive curls and giant umbrellas, and when I finally locked eyes with him, I couldn’t help but cry. There, in front of a lit up Hot Dog Stand, soaking wet and down on one knee was my Tanner… in all his glory… asking me… in all my glory… to be his wife. It was my imperfect / perfect proposal and the best gift I ever received at Christmas.
I can’t even wait for the wedding and all the adventures I’ll get to have with you, Bunny :)