When he asked me...as tears streamed down my cheeks, I whispered softly...
"yes, yes, a thousand times, yes!"
I got a bowl of clam chowder, a Super Bird sandwich with thousand island dressing and a Mr. Pibb...
What? He asked me if I wanted to go to Denny's...like I was gonna pass that up. There's only so many Filet O'Fish sandwiches a gal can stand.
So Mark was home on his work break and I was itching to get a proposal...in my 19 year old mind it was now or never...I wanted a November wedding like there was no tomorrow and it was March already. I had six months to plan a wedding and I wasn't about to let a little thing like a marriage proposal get in the way.
Why did I want a November wedding you ask? Well, I had a very good reason. No, there wasn't any special anniversaries or family memories connected to that particular month, other than Thanksgiving (and that's a whole other story, when we poisoned half our immediate family by serving them dirt pig for Thanksgiving dinner). No, the reason I had made perfect sense to me.
It was before December. And January. And February. Starting to see a pattern?
I wanted to marry Mark. That was my reason. And he was not cooperating.
But little did I know, he had a plan. I just happened to ruin it.
We came to the Friday night before he would be leaving for another three weeks. He told me was taking me to a French restaurant on the beach near the causeway...I think it was called "Pepe LePews"...actually I can't remember the name, for goodness sake it's been 25 years...anyway, it was very fancy and very French.
Escargot, crab bisque, lobster and cham...um, sodas...
We started our main course and that's when I decided that is was the perfect time to let Mark know that I thought we should really consider getting married in November. Subtle, thy name is not Deb. And so after a few minutes of whispered arguing, the bomb was dropped. Right into my linen napkin covered lap. And it went a little something like this...
me: whispering, leaning forward across the table, "I just don't understand why we can't get married in November!"
Mark: whispering, leaning forward across the table, "I haven't even asked you yet!"
me: whispering, leaning forward across the table, "well at this rate I don't think you ever will!"
Mark: speaking as clear as a bell, and sitting straight up in his chair, "I was going to propose to you tonight"
Notice the word "was" in his last sentence...
We never got to the creme' brulee.
(don't fret...there's a happy ending)
The last thing I remember at the restaurant was the waiter standing next to me, asking me if I would like my lobster to go...I guess even fancy French restaurants have those styro-foam containers...so with a quivering bottom lip I mumbled, "ok".
No moon-lit walk on the beach, no handsome young man on bended knee, no violins playing...just a very. quiet. ride. back to my parents house. Of course the quiet was periodically interrupted by my wailing. But nevertheless, a quiet ride back home.
Saturday. No proposal. Easter Sunday. No proposal. But then again a proposal would have been a little difficult considering neither one of us was speaking to the other. And then it came time to go the airport to say goodbye for another three weeks.
As we waited downstairs at Mark's parents house, he ushered me into a small office his mother kept next to a guest bedroom. As we sat on the small couch, he asked me if I wanted my Easter present. I jumped a little when he spoke, not from excitement but because I hadn't heard his voice in 48 hours and it spooked me a little. Anyway, out came the little black box and finally the words I had been so eager (and a little crazed) to hear. My one and only marriage proposal. And it went a little something like this...
Mark: "would you marry me?"
me: "I guess"
No, not really...but I'm gonna keep that part to myself...