The man of my dreams finally asked me to marry him. It was a proposal that far surpassed my dreams; which happened to be a lot tackier. I grew up picturing a proposal center court of my favorite NBA team’s basketball game. I know, I know, not exactly the majority of little girls white horse and carriage proposal. I’m a tomboy. I love everything and all things sports, so this is what I envisioned - get over it. It got a little more feminine as I grew older..maybe I’d be swept away off the court by a horse and carriage - or by Joakim Noah, same thing.
Anyway, it was during our vacation to Italy. We arrived at the gorgeous Trevi Fountain in Rome, a place he insisted on us visiting because of it’s reputation of being the world’s most famous wishing well. He gave me a shiny penny, told me to close my eyes, and toss the penny into the fountain while making my wish. When I came to light, he was down on one knee with a little black box in hand, an Italian guy with a dozen red roses on one side, and a violin player on the other. Like, seriously?! If this isn’t a dream, slap me so I can feel some sort of reality.
On top of everything going on we had a zillion tourists and foreigners taking pictures of the moment like we were fu*king Brad and Angelina - currently checking “experience a moment of fame” off my bucket list. My completely surprising proposal being tweeted, instagram'ed, and facebook'ed by foreigners and tourists kind of beats the Jumbotron, #blessed.
Let me cut to the chase - or rather to the cut of the ring. I don’t want to sound like a spoiled little shit, but despite the flawless proposal, the ring selection was a bit, flawed. It had nothing to do with “I want a bigger diamond” or “it’s not enough carats” so don’t be SO QUICK to judge me just yet. The truth is, it just didn’t feel like ME.
Before you shout “Who cares what it looks like - It’s a symbol of love - yadda yadda”, just don’t. I’m going to be wearing this ring for the rest of my life. I don’t feel I should settle for being unhappy every time I look at it because I feel like it should be on Kim Kardashian’s finger. The intention behind it made me happy, the guilt and the questions that’ll haunt me forever if I didn’t discuss my puddle of emotions with my Prince Charming, is what would kill me:
Why should it matter what the ring looks like?
Why would he buy me a ring that clearly is “not me”?
Why didn’t he ask my best friend or family for some help choosing one?
I can imagine he confidently chose this specific ring just for me and probably dreaded the thought of “what if she doesn’t like it?” - which made me want to just shut the hell up, learn to love it, and accept the fact that he was even man enough to get down on a knee and put a damn ring on it! Not to mention he did it in a very fairytale-fashion - claps for you fiance.
I didn’t want to hurt him; but if he was in my position I would want him to wear a ring that he didn’t settle for. So, I spoke up and watched his face turn pale - *cue panic attack”. Obviously he was hurt, but we came to a solution, and adjusted the ring to make it “ME”. He ended up feeling more joy knowing I could communicate my honesty and that I was happy with our “symbol of love”, rather than end up resenting it down the line. I hate to say it, but mom was right - honesty IS the best policy.