Setting: Saturday, February 10, 1996. Our small apartment.
“So, what did you do today?” I asked filled with curiosity. Dave and I had been living together for a few weeks and hadn’t spent any time alone; we even worked together.
“Not much. Pat and I hung out, got some lunch, bought a ring,” Dave replied in a blur, completely clueless to what he had just said.
“What?” I thought I was hearing things.
“I wasn’t supposed to say that!” Dave shook his head, realizing his mistake. “Well, I better get it.”
He shuffled out the door and got the ring from his car. He was shaking – my big, strong, athletic boyfriend was shaking. I was standing in the minuscule hallway that ran along the length of our apartment, connecting the living area, kitchen, and small bedroom. He asked in a quiet, teary voice: “Will you marry me?”
“Of course!” I answered and he slipped a little golden ring with a flawed diamond on my finger. It was the prettiest thing I’d ever seen.
No bells and whistles, no Jumbotrons or gems hidden in desserts, just a little slip of the tongue.
Still going strong in 2012, our sixteenth Valentine’s Day.