Romance, My Ass

I have friends — probably you do, too — who brag about the creative ways they proposed to their girlfriends: with skywriting, on the scoreboard at the ballpark, as a surprise in partnership with a waiter or taxi driver, all sorts of clever, complicated methods.

My strategy was neither clever nor complicated, but the reply will forever stay in my memory.

One Friday night Sarah, who is now my wife, and I were sitting in my townhouse, talking about what to do the following day. It was supposed to be a cold, rainy March day (March 24, if you must know). "What do you want to do tomorrow?" Sarah asked. "I think we should go shopping for engagement rings," I replied. "Sarah, will you marry me?"

Sarah's response: "No shit, really? You better not be joking."

I think she didn't fully believe me until the next morning, when we really did go out shopping for a ring. But we did "celebrate" that Friday night by going out to a nearby Mexican restaurant for a couple of burritos. (We used to go back every year for dinner on March 23, until it became a mattress store.)

So ladies, if your boyfriend ever proposes to you in a very public way, and you're more embarrassed than touched, believe me, it could be worse.

No shit.