New Years Eve in 1999 was a historical event for a bunch of reasons. Many were concerned about the Y2K computer crash, causing rolling blackouts, financial ruin, and riots in the streets. Working for a major financial institution, I saw people panicking and withdrawing funds to store in their mattresses. I, on the other hand, had complete faith in the techies, knowing our fortune of $280 was safe at the turn of the century. Just to be sure, I woke up bright and early to watch as Australia celebrated, making sure there was no catastrophic blackout or riot or mayhem in general.
I was laying in bed, watching the news as reporters from all over the globe joined the celebration in Australia. Just as I had suspected, nothing happened. Dave came into the bedroom already fully dressed and offered to make me breakfast in bed, since I didn’t have to be at work until 11am. I was not going to turn down the opportunity and gave him my order. Scrambled eggs, toast and orange juice. Why today? He had never offered to make me breakfast in bed before. He was up to something.
A few moments later, Dave was back with my order. The man was a short order cook, if I ever saw one. My breakfast was nicely presented on a Styrofoam plate, with an unexpected side of bacon. I thanked Chef Boyardave and dug into the eggs. Dave sat there, on the edge of the bed, and watched me eat. I asked him where his food was, and he said he wasn’t hungry. Since when? I took a bite of the toast, and it had a strange taste to it. It almost tasted like blue cheese. I asked Dave if he did anything weird to the toast and he just got offended. I didn’t want to deter him from ever making me breakfast again, so I pushed through, and ate the blue cheese toast. Later in the day I inspected the bread bag to discover mold. I guess that was my dose of penicillin for the year. Maybe he was not the culinary wizard I made him out to be after all.
After I finished eating my breakfast while under a microscope, I handed the plate back to Dave and he cleared the fine china and brought it back downstairs. Since I was still hours away from needing to get ready for work, I rolled over and started to doze off again while listening to the celebratory sounds of the land down under.
Moments later Dave was back. He laid down next to me on the bed, my back facing him. So that’s why he made me breakfast. Figures. “You know I love you, right?” He was being so weird. “Yes, I love you too.” A couple minutes went by, then he said, “This thing in my pocket is really bothering me.” Gulp. After five years, here it was. The moment I had been waiting for. With my back still to Dave I said, “If it is bothering you, take it out of your pocket.”
There was fidgeting, then Dave said, “Do you want to see it?” I knew there was one of two things I would see when I turned over. I was praying I wasn’t going to be disappointed. I slowly turned over and there it was. A navy blue velvet box. I just stared at the closed box. “Well, are you gonna take it?” I took the box out of his hands, continuing to just gaze at it. “Well, are you going to open it?” I grinned and opened the box. It was the most beautiful ring I ever saw.
“Will you marry me?” Wait wait wait. “No, you are doing it all wrong. You have to get down on one knee and ask!” Call me traditional, but when I envisioned this moment, with the violins playing in a garden in Paris, my suitor was on bended knee. I would tell our children someday and I wanted to make sure this event was flawless. Dave chuckled, hopped off the bed, and got down on one knee on the hardwood floor. “Will you marry me?” By this point I was shaking. “Yes, of course I will marry you!!!” Dave stood up and as we hugged tighter than ever before, Dave whispered, “Phew.”
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