If you live in Canada, there's one thing that happens every single year on New Year's Eve. Yes, there's fireworks. A kiss at midnight....mmmmm hmmmm. Someone having one too many bottles of Spumante followed by an in-depth convo with Sparkles the cat. But that could happen anywhere. I'm talking about Canada eh, as in A big ass snow storm. And this year was no exception.
I had to work New Year's Eve in the AM so Paul spent the night at my place. Our plan was to drive up to the city after I got off work. Paul's brother Steve and his wife Misty were hosting a murder mystery party, set in the 1920's. Paul was playing the role of the Mayor. I was Flirty Flapper, his dish on the side.
Flirty flapper costume: check
Winter tires: um....no
The raging snow storm made me question whether we should risk the drive. Paul was adamant we were going. I tried to reason with him. He said he wanted to show me off at the party. Awwww. That's sweet (in a realizing your potential-trophy-girlfriend-material kind of way). Ever the practical voice of reason, I offered, "Honey, it doesn't matter where we are on New Year's Eve as long as we're together." Paul retorted, "We're going." So much for the voice of reason.
I half understood his drive to well, drive. Paul spent his last New Year's drinking alone in his condo (probably talking to Sparkles). The year before that he was dumped on New Year's Eve by his then-girlfriend while they were traveling abroad right before he was about to propose. He was possessed with breaking the jinx on his New Year's.
So I prayed a lot during the drive - "oh my god, oh my god, oh my god." Paul was unusually quiet the whole two and a half hours. Like really unusually quiet (This is the same guy that met an oil tycoon while swimming in the Italian sea).
Paul wanted to cook me a nice romantic dinner before we headed to the party. Unfortunately our drive was an hour longer than usual because of the weather (and we left late) so we were slightly short on time. Again, being the ever practical voice of reason I said, "Let's just grab a salad at [name of grocery empire]." Paul sighed and conceded.
Back at Paul's place we were making dip, getting our salad ready, and making last minute adjustments to our costumes.
Paul: "Let's sit down for a minute."
Me: "We don't have time to sit down."
Paul: "Let's sit down for a minute." He puts his arm around me and corrals me over to the couch for a mandatory rest period. My head resting on his chest.
Paul: "Do you know how much you mean to me?"
Paul: "Can I ask you something?"
Paul: "Will you marry me?"
Me: (stunned) "Are you kidding?"
Paul: (looking worried) "No. I don't think so."
[Puts beautiful sparkling ring in my line of view]
Me: something incoherent
[kissing, kissing and more kissing until I realize I haven't officially given him an answer]
Me: "Yes, darling, yes I will marry you."
[Paul puts the ring on my finger]
Me: "Can you ask me again so I don't ruin it this time?"
Paul: (Laughing) "Yes, will you marry me?"
So that's why he wanted to "go to the party" so badly - the ring was at his place. Why he was so quiet. Why he wanted to cook a romantic dinner but he couldn't protest when I said salad. I was sooooo clueless the whole time! I'd never seen Paul so nervous. He confessed he wanted to start the year off right. Awww. Now that is the sweetest.
Oy! I'm getting married.
[And yes, we did go to the party. There may have been some editing in there. I'm not drawing a straight line for you here people.]