I don’t like that 99% of the time when people propose they presume the answer will be “yes” because their partners love them.
Really everyone? Love? What kind of criterion for saying “yes” is that? I’m sorry, but maybe more marriages would last if people had higher standards, like, if there is an Awesome Blossom on the table, probably not the best time to ask me to spend eternity with you. Or is it? Here are some proposal scenarios where I will have to respond, “Not it!”
1. At a restaurant, any restaurant, especially Chili’s, unless you order an Awesome Blossom and margaritas and cup the small of my back with your hand as I whisper in your ear that my margarita lacks a very important ingredient – alcohol – at which point you throw your hands in the air and complain to the bartender that there is no alcohol in our margaritas THERE IS NEVER ANY ALCOHOL IN THESE JEE DEE FRANCHISE MARGARITAS motivating the bartender to add an obscene amount of tequila to the subsequently ordered margaritas that are now on the house. In this particular case, I would most likely say “Yes” to your proposal because going to bat for your girl at Chili’s is sort of my version of Ryan Gosling climbing a ferris wheel.
2. At a baseball game or, while we’re at it, any place at any time involving a jumbotron. This is really offensive, so I will break this down for you.
As a mother, I want the entire game, a full uninterrupted four hours to eat my stadium hot dog – 1 minute to inhale it and 3 hours and 59 minutes to digest it and reflect on how exquisite it was to not have to share my hot dog or take someone to pee in the middle of eating my hot dog. Do not interrupt. Rude. (@anjelahjohnson)
Repeat of above, except beer. Let me drink my beer. Do not interrupt. Rude. (@anjelahjohnson)
I don’t want my proposal to occur right after the t-ball players from Forsyth Middle School show off on the field so proudly during the transition from the 8th to the 9th inning. What kind of man one-ups the t-ballers?
The jumbotron was made for the idiots who try to catch pop flies from the bird mascot because they have a 1 in 1,000 chance of winning a $15 gift card to Best Buy. Or for the people who like to kiss when they see themselves on the screen. By the way, I don’t understand that ritual. A stadium full of thousands of drunk assholes and not one person shows hiss ass on the jumbotron? We’re kissing? America, you’re getting soft on me.
My pores do not ever need to be enlarged to 1,000 DPI. Oh hale no.
3. My birfday. That’s a celebration of ME, not us. I don’t want you to think that a proposal replaces gifts. I would like gifts, including Taylor Swift perfume poured into a Dolce & Gabanna bottle. That’s really GETTING ME. Go the extra mile. And just so we’re covering all bases, please shy away from Christmas and Easter. If you want to overshadow Jesus, that’s fine. But leave me out of it.
4. At a concert. WHAT? WHAT? YOU WANT TO CARRY ME? SHUT UP THIS IS MY FAVORITE PART! OH MY GOD ADAM LEVINE IS SO HOT AND I CAN ALMOST REACH HIS CALF. See sweetheart? This is not your time to shine.
5. Alone on the beach after a stroll or on a blanket looking at the stars. Ugggghhhhh. I’m bored. So bored. And hungry. So hungry. Can we eat something already? Donuts? An Awesome Blossom!! Or let’s DO something! Cart wheels? Each other? Stars are boring. Maybe instead you could put a ring inside a jack-in-the box and wind it up until it pops out a ring and I pee myself. Every time. It gets me every time! That would be way more fun for me, for us both! But don’t get the kind that has a clown inside because that would just be weird.
6. In Paris. How many people have gotten engaged there? It’s like an engagement mill. Every time I see an engagement photo by the Eiffel Tower I imagine a long line of tourists who want to stage a cool engagement and a bitter woman in a booth charging $100 bucks a pic, per pose, sort of like the kids wrapped around the mall waiting to take pics with Santa. A total rip off, but you feel like you have to do it because it’s Christmas! Except it’s Paris! What would be cooler than getting engaged in Paris! I know what would be cooler than getting engaged in Paris. Not getting engaged in Paris.
7. Some kind of scavenger or treasure hunt where the last clue leads me to you. Huh? Wha? You want me to use my brain and answer questions and move my legs and EARN the proposal? I have to WORK for it? Why don’t you just give me a hand tool so I can chisel my way out of Shawshank to meet you on the outside, squealing, “Good job, sweetheart! You win ME! And a ring you’ll sorta like! You make me so happy. Will you be my wife?!”
First I’ll stare at you, jaw hung open. And you’ll be so proud of yourself. Then I’ll respond, “Ummmmmm, how do I say this?
LOOK WHAT YOU DID TO MY HAIR. I HATE YOU.
I’m not working for a proposal. I’ve worked enough through my own dysfunction, several men’s commitment issues, fights, drunken breakups, sober breakups, and a lot of Kelly Clarkson songs to get to a place where “proposal” is even a consideration. Knock yourself out creating a scavenger hunt, but there better be an Awesome Blossom or some donuts at the finish.
Note: If you got engaged in one of these ways, please don’t hate me. I’m sensitive. And I love you. But to be fair, this isn’t about you, and according to my therapist, I don’t know how to be happy and as a side effect of that disability I resent your happiness and life choices.